^►.*^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0     !SI^  I 


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Photpgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


■^x* 

>^.^ 


^'^"^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/iCMH 
Collection  de 
microficheSo 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notas  tachniquaa  at  bibliographiquaa 


t( 


The  Institute  haa  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  mey  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I — I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


□ 
D 
D 

n 


Couverture  endommagie 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  at/ou  peliiculAe 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le 


D 


titre  de  couverture  manque 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gAographiques  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  {i.e.  other  than  '      n  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  *  ur  olouo  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
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Bound  with  other  material/ 
Ralii  avec  d'autres  documents 

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along  interior  margin/ 

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Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
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II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  la  taxte, 
mais,  lorsqua  ceia  Atait  possible,  cas  pages  n'ont 
pas  «ti  film«as. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  At*  oossibia  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-*tre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
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sont  indiqute  ci-dessous. 

□   Coloured  pages/ 
Pagea  da  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagias 

r~~|    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 


D 
D 


Pages  restaurias  et/ou  pelliculies 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d*color*es,  tacheties  ou  piquies 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d*tach*es 


T 

P 

o 
fi 


0 
b 
t» 
si 
o\ 
fii 
si 

01 


r~7]    Showthrough/ 


Transparence 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualiti  inigale  de  I'impres&ion 

r~n    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Compran«^  du  materiel  supplimantaire 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  idltion  disponible 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata.  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  *t*  filmies  A  nouveau  de  facon  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


s 

w 

M 
di 
ar 
bf 

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re 
m 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu*  ci*dessous. 

10X  14X  ISX  22X 


26X 


30X 


J 


12X 


lex 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


ils 

u 

lifier 

ne 

iga 


The  copy  filmed  her*  hee  been  reproduced  thenka 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Douglas  Library 
Queen's  University 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  v/ith  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  Illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


L'exemplaire  film*  fut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
g^nArosIt*  de: 

Douglas  Library 
Queen's  University 

Lee  Images  suivantes  ont  4tA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soln,  compte  tenu  de  Im  condition  et 
de  la  nettet*  de  i'ev^mpiaire  filmA,  et  en 
conformM  avec  lee  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Lea  exemplaires  origlnaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  ImprimAe  sent  fllmis  en  commen9ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  termlnent  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impresslon  ou  d'illustratlon,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  las  autres  exemplaires 
orlginoux  sont  fllmis  en  commen9ant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impresslon  ou  d'illustratlon  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  miciofiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  sulvants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »>  signlfie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signlfie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  retios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Lee  certes,  planches,  tebleeux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
fllmis  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cllchA,  II  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  geuche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  has,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcesselre.  Les  disgrammes  sulvants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


ta 


ure. 


: 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

r\ 


THE   ATTACH^; 


OB, 


SAM   SLICK   IN  ENGLAND. 


BT  TBI  ACTHOS  OF 


"SAM  BUCK  THE  OLOOEHAEEB,"    "NATURE  ADTD  HUMAN 
NATURE,"   "SAM  SLIOK  IN  8BAR0H  OF  A  WIFE," 


"the  old  judge,"  etc. 


Duplex  libelll  doa  eit ;  qnod  riinm  m«>T«t, 
Et  qnod  pradenti  vitam  conailio  monet. 


NEW    REVISED     EDITION. 


NEW   YORK: 

STRINGER    &    TOWNSEND. 

1866. 


IP 


ni'j/iTA  :inr 


,!| 


A    » 


f\  U  I 


4.  1\- 


/ 


r, 


;:  .1 


rKIITTID    BV 
B.  IT.  OROMVAjr, 

8S  *  M  BMkiua  ai 


■^ 


■'■••**^«;ivy  r-r^JAK  sirr 


■*■  ".it-f^'i 


CONTENTS.    -'  '•  '•""'  •^^•?'« 


/  tKCOKKINO  A  BOTTLS 


0 

.'V 

1 


\c 


CHAPTER  I 
CHAPTER  H. 


4 


•  • 


i  mCV  DAY  IN  THB  COUIfTHT   . 

CHAPTER  m. 

^YINO  A  NIOHT-OAP    . 

cHAiPwaiiv. 

ttOXK  AND  THB    8BA  ^  ;  .. 

■   CHAPTER  V. 

VOTHXB  EEMu  Of  THB  OCN  ; 

.r.  <»IAPTER  V!. 

SMALL  POTATOES  AND  PKW  IN  A  HILL 

{J  CHAPTER  Vn. 

A  OINTLXIIAN  AT  LAROX 


SIBING  LITXBPOOL 


OHANOINO  A  NAMB 


CHAPTER  Vin. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


"C'.K 


•  11 


16 

.       30 
.    34 
40 
.    41 


■'■:<-i\  Si  ;;:...-;:<ii'i  ;,inf 


47 


.■»'-.!■:.•  aiti'  KJ  X'lu 


66 


V 

\ 

Vi  CONTENTS. 

-      CHAPTER  X. 

f 

THB  KILSON   MONOIOOIT      .......  60 

CHAPTER  XI. 

0OTTAOS8  .  .  .       68 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

"STXAUNO  THB  HIART8  or  TUB  PEOPLK'*      ....     75 

CHAPTER  Xni. 

MATUB*  .  .  .  .83 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

TBI  SOCDOLAOBB        .  .  *  87 

CHAPTER  XV- 
nuxaiQ  ODT   ..'.......    93 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THB  NOBB  or  A  SPY  .  .  ,  .  .99 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THB  PATBON  ;  OB,  THB  COW's  TAIL    ......   105 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A8(?0T  BACBS  .......         109 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THB  OANOBB  PaUINO  .......    112 

CHAPTER  XX.  ^' 

THB  BI.ACB  8T0U  .......  119 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

THB  FBXMOB  DB  J0IirVILLB*8  H0B8B    ......   125 

,    '  CHAPTER  XXII.  '       ■      "  '" 

lira  m  THB  OOUNTBT  .  .  .181 

4 


CONTENTS. 

IfT 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BDMKDK  ,  ,  ,  ,  ^  ^  |j| 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THBOWINO  TWt  ULTnrDBE  •••«..  147 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
"AIMnrO  HIGH**  ••••...  151 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

ASWOT-miB ,  jgy 

CHAPTER  XXVIL 

TATTJEESALL's  ;  OE,  THE  KLDBa  AND  THB  ORATK  DIQOIK         .  .  .162 

CHAPTER  XXVHL 

I<00KINO  BACK  ••....  175 

CHAl  TER  XXIX. 

CJtOSSINO  THK  BORDEB.  .  .  .  ,  ,  ^  jgj 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

V  THE  OLD  AND  TUB  KEW  WOELD.   ....  10a 

CHAPTER  XXXL 

THE  BOAEDUrO  SCHOOLS  .  .  .  .  ^  ,g. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  EBTOLDTIOKAEY  HEEO  •  •  .  .  ,  201 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

"■"■ .305 

CHAPTER  XXiaV. 

THE  QUEBK  •.•.,.,  oil 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

.IULLTA«     .  .  .  .  .  .  ,  .  ^jjjg 


'  Tiii  *  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WHITE   BAIT  ...  .  .  ...        219 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THI  OUBLINO  WATB  A)fD  THX  OLD   OAK  TBBB  .  .^  .  H^l 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

MATIONAL  CHARACTXB      .  .  .'  .  .  .  .  226 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

rBM  PULPIT  AND  THE  PBBSS  ......   !^ 

'     CHAPTER  XL. 

'  WATB&LOO  AND  BCNKKB-HILL      .  .  .  .         '      . '     '    IJM 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

^  HOOKS '  AND  BYB8. — PAST  I.  '  .'  .  ',  ,  .   841 

CHAPTER  XLH. 

BOOKS  AND  BTBS.-^PABT  11.        .  .  .  .  .  .  j^6 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

BISPONSIBLB   GOTEBNHXNT.-^PART  1.  '  .  .  .  .  .   249 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

BESPONSIBLB   GOVEBNMBNT — PABf  U.       . '  .  '  .  .  .  254 

•     CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   DUKE   OF   KENT   AND   HIS   TBUHl>ETEB      .  .  .  .  .  ^^ 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

BBPEAL  .  •   '  .  .  .  •  .  .  SS64 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE  H0B8B   STEALER',   OR  AtL  TRADES  HAVfe  TRICSS  BUT  OUR   OWN  .  267 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

THE  PLEASUaSB  OF  HOPE  .'  .  .'  .  .  '.  '        Hfi 


>\.v?; 


.•>^afe' 


OOMl'DPIB.  JK 

GHAFTEai  XUX. 

Mll*T  t  LOOK  PALBI    OB,   THE  IBON  OQD  ...  >.  MB 

.;  >OHAFTBR  I., 
nn  coLONUL  orrios    .  .  ....  .        M4 

.   OHAFTER  U. 

BAkNBT  OZMAN  AND  THB  DBTII.  ...  ,  .  .  SSS 

CHAPTER  UI. 

BttQDIATION  .......  •  B98 

CHAPTER  LHL 

MB  BAOKLOO,  QB  C00LMBS8  .  .     .      .       .  498 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

^  MABBIAOB  ........  800 

CHAPTER  LV. 

^^    PATINO  AND  BBTUBNINO  VISITS  .  .  .  *   .  304 

CHAPTER  LVI. 

THB  CANADIAN  BXILB.-— PABT  I.  .....  809 

CHAPTER  LVH. 

THB  CANADIAN  BZILB. — ^PABT  U.  .....  .  313 

CHAPTER  LVni. 

\.  WATERING  PLACES  .......  817 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE  BABL  OF  TUNBBIDSB       .......  824 

CHAPTER  LX. 

ENGLISH   OENTLEKBN  .  .  i  .  .  .  838 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

ENGLISH  NIGOEBS        .  •  .  .  .  .  .  883 

i* 


OONTINTS. 
CHAPTER  LXU. 


IMDinifDiNOB 


\N  ran  ibb  tidi 


CHAPTER  LXIIi. 


CHAPTER  Lxnr. 


BZnBIintlfTAL  PHILOSOPHY 


CHAPTER  LXV. 


PAKTINO   lOBNB 


848 


348 


858 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

"""^▼ALBDIOTOBT  ADOBBIB     .......  86V 


<      /•:.  ;vaV/ 


At, 


I      .i-TM.;.-, 


THE  ATTACHE; 


OB, 


SAM    SLICK    IN    ENGLAND 


CHAPTER  I. 


UNCORKING  A  BOTTLE. 


We  left  New  Yprk  in  the  afternoon  of day  of  May,  184 — , 

and  embarked  on  board  of  the  good  packet-ship  'Tyler,'  for  England. 
Our  party  consisted  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hopewell,  Samuel  Slick, 
Esq.,  myself,  and  Jube  Japan,  a  black  servant  of  the  Attach^. 

I  love  brevity — I  am  a  man  of  few  words,  and,  therefore,  oonsti- 
tuti(«ally  economical  of  them ;  but  brevity  is  apt  to  degenenite  into 
obscurity.  Writing  a  book,  however,  and  book-making,  are  two  very 
different  things.  *'  Spinning  a  yam  "  is  mechanical,  and  book-mak- 
ing savors  of  trade,  and  is  the  employment  of  a  manufacturer.  The 
author  by  profession,  weaves  his  web  by  the  piece,  and  as  there  is 
much  competition  in  this  branch  of  trade,  extends  it  over  the  greatest 
possible  surface,  so  as  to  make  the  most  of  his  raw  material.  Hence 
every  work  of  fancy  is  made  to  reach  to  three  volumes,  otherwise  it 
will  not  pay,  and  a  manufacture  that  does  not  requite  the  cost  of 
production,  invariably  and  inevitably  terminates  in  bankruptcy.  A  ■ 
thought,  therefore,  like  a  pound  of  cotton,  must  be  well  spun  out  to  / 
be  valuable.  It  is  very  contemptuous  to  say  of  a  man,  that  he  has 
but  one  idea,  but  it  is  the  highest  meed  of  praise  that  can  be  bestow- 
ed on  a  book.    A  man,  who  writes  thus,  can  write  for  ever. 

Now,  it  is  not  only  not  my  intention  to  write  for  ever,  or  as  Mr. 
Slick  would  say,  "  for  everlastinly ;"  but  to  make  my  bow  and  retire 
very  soon  from  the  press  altogether.  I  might  assign  many  reasons 
for  this  modest  course,  all  of  them  plausible,  and  some  of  them, 
indeed,  quite  dignified.    I  like  dignity :  any  man  who  has  lived  the 


n- 


IS 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


greater  part  of  his  life  in  a  colony  is  so  accustomed  to  it,  that  he 
becomes  quite  enamored  of  it,  and,  wrapping  himself  up  in  it  as  a 
cloak,  stalks  abroad  the  "  observed  of  all  observers."  I  could  un- 
dervalue this  species  of  writing  if  I  thought  proper,  affect  a  con- 
tempt for  idiomatic  humor,  or  hint  at  the  employment  being  incon- 
sistent with  the  grave  discharge  of  important  official  duties,  which 
are  so  distressingly  onerous,  as  not  to  leave  me  a  moment  for  recrea- 
tion ;  but  these  airs,  though  dignified,  will  unfortunately  not  avail 
me.  I  shall  put  my  dignity  into  my  pocket,  therefore,  and  disclose 
the  real  cause  of  this  diffidence. 

In  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  fourteen,  I  embarked 
at  Halifax,  on  board  the  *  Buffalo,'  store-ship,  for  £ngland.  She 
was  a  noble  teak-built  ship  of  twelve  or  thirteen  hundred  tons 
burden,  had  excellent  accommodation,  and  carried  over  to  merry 
Old  England,  a  very  merry  party  of  passengers,  quorum  parva  pars 
fuL  a  youngster  just  emerged  from  college. 

On  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  we  were  becalmed,  and  the  pas- 
sengers amused  themselves  by  throwing  overboard  a  bottle,  and 
shooting  at  it  with  ball.  The  guns  used  for  this  occasion,  were  the 
King's  muskets,  taken  from  the  arm-chest  on  the  quarter-deck. 
The  shooting  was  execrate.  It  was  hard  to  say  which  were  worse 
marksmen,  the  officers  of  the  ship,  or  the  passengers.  Not  a  bottle 
was  hit  Many  reasons  were  offered  for  this  failure,  but  the  two 
principal  ones  were,  that  the  muskets  were  bad,  and  that  it  required 
great  skill  to  overcome  the  difficulty  occasioned  by  both  the  vessel 
and  the  bottle  being  in  motion  at  the  same  time,  and  that  motion 
dissimilar. 

I  lost  my  patience.  I  had  never  practised  shooting  with  ball ;  I 
had  frightened  a  few  snipe,  and  wounded  a  few  partridges,  but  that 
was  the  extent  of  my  experience.  I  knew,  however,  that  I  could 
not,  by  any  possibility,  shoot  worse  than  everybody  else  had  done, 
and  might,  by  accident,  shoot  better. 

"  Give  me  a  gun.  Captain,"  said  I,  "  and  I  will  show  you  how  to 
uncork  that  bottle." 

I  took  the  musket,  but  its  weight  was  beyond  my  stitength  of  artn. 
I  was  afraid  that  I  could  not  hold  it  out  steadily,  even  for  a  moment, 
it  was  so  very  heavy — I  threw  it  up  with  a  desperate  effort,  and 
fired.  The  neck  of  the  bottle  flew  into  the  air  a  full  yard,  and  then 
disappeared.  I  was  amazed  myself  at  my  success.  Everybody  was 
surprised,  but  as  everybody  attributed  it  to  long  practice,  they  were 
not  so  much  astonished  as  I  was,  who  knew  it  was  wholly  owing  to 
chance.  It  was  a  lucky  hit,  and  I  made  the  most  of  it ;  success 
made  me  arrogant,  and,  boy-Hke,  I  became  a  boaster. 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  coolly,  "  you  must  be  bom  with  a  rifle  in  your 
hand,  Captain,  to  shoot  well.  Everybody  shoots  well  in  America. 
I  do  not  call  myself  a  good  shot.    I  have  not  had  the  requisite  ex- 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENOLAND. 


18 


which 


rour 
ica. 
ex- 


perience ;  but  there  are  those  who  can  take  but  the  eje  of  a  squirrel 
at  a  hundred  yards.'* 

"  Can  you  see  the  eye  of  a  squirrel  at  that  distance?"  said  the 
Captain,  with  a  knowing  wink  of  his  own  little  ferret  eye. 

That  question,  which  raised  a  general  laugh  at  my  expense,  was 
a  puzzler.  The  absurdity  of  the  story,  which  I  had  heard  a  thou- 
sand times,  never  struck  me  so  forcibly.  But  I  was  not  to  be  put 
down  so  easily. 

"  See  it  1"  said  I, "  why  not  ?  Try  it,  and  you  will  find  your  sight 
improve  with  your  shooting.  Now,  I  can't  boast  of  being  a  good 
marksman  myself:  my  studies"  (and  here  I  looked  big,  for  I  doubt- 
ed if  he  could  even  read,  much  less  construe  a  chapter  in  the  Greek 
Testament)  ''  did  not  leave  me  much  time.  A  squirrel  is  too  small 
an  object  for  all  but  an  experienced  man,  but  a  large  mark  like  a 
quart  bottle  can  easily  be  hit  at  a  hundred  yards — that  is  nothing." 

"  I  will  take  you  a  bet,"  said  he,  *'  of  a  doubloon,  you  do  not  do  it 
again." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  replied,  with  great  indiflference  :  "  I  never  bet, 
and,  besides,  that  gun  has  so  injured  my  shoulder,  that  I  could  not, 
if  I  would." 

By  that  accidental  shot,  I  obtained  a  great  name  as  a  marksman, 
and,  by  prudence,  I  retained  it  all  the  voyage.  This  is  precisely 
my  case  now,  gentle  reader.  I  made  an  accidental  bit  with  the 
Clockmaker :  when  he  ceases  to  speak,  I  shall  cease  to  write.  The  / 
little  reputation  I  then  acquired,  I  do  not  intend  to  jeopardize  by' 
trying  too  many  experiments.  I  know  that  it  was  chance — ^many 
people  think  it  was  skill.  If  they  choose  to  think  so,  they  have  ft 
right  to  their  opinion,  and  that  opinion  is  fame.  J  value  this  repu- 
tation too  highly  not  to  take  care  of  it. 

As  I  do  not  intend,  then,  to  write  often,  I  shall  not  wiredraw  my 
subjects,  for  the  mere  purpose  of  filling  my  pages.  Still  a  book 
should  be  perfect  within  itself,  and  intelligible  without  reference  to 
other  books.  Authors  are  vain  people,  and  vanity  as  well  as  dignity 
is  indigenous  to  a  colony.  Like  a  pastiy-cook's  apprentice,  I  see  so 
much  of  both  the  sweet  things  around  me  daily,  that  I  have  no  ap- 
petite for  either  of  them. 

I  might,  perhaps,  be  pardoned,  if  I  took  it  for  granted,  that  the 
dramatis  personse  of  this  work  were  sufficiently  known,  not  to  require 
a  particular  introduction.  Dickens  assumed  the  fact  that  his  book 
on  America  would  travel  wherever  the  English  language  was 
spoken,  and,  therefore,  called  it "  Notes  for  General  Circulation." 
Even  Colonists  say,  that  this  was  too  bad,  and  if  they  say  so,  it  must 
be  so.  I  shall,  therefore,  briefly  state,  who  and  what  the  persons 
are  that  composed  our  travelling  party,  as  if  they  were  wholly  un- 
known to  fame,  and  then  leave  them  to  speak  for  themselves. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Hopewell  is  a  very  agcc'.  clergyman  of  the 


u 


THB  attaohI:;  ob, 


Church  of  England,  and  was  educated  at  Cambridge  College,  in 
Massachusetts.  Previously  to  the  revolution,  he  was  appointed 
rector  of  a  small  parish  in  Connecticut.  When  the  colonies  obtained 
their  independence,  he  remained  with  his  little  flock  in  his  native 
land,  and  continued  to  minister  to  their  spiritual  wants  until  within 
a  few  years,  when  his  parishioners  becoming  Unitarians,  gave  hun 
his  dismissal.  Afiable  in  his  manners,  and  simple  in  his  habits,  with 
a  mind  well  stored  with  human  lore,  and  a  heart  fuU  of  kindness 
for  his  fellow-creatures,  he  wa$>  at  once  an  agreeable  and  an  instruc- 
tive companion.  Born  and  educated  in  the  United  States,  when 
they  were  British  dependencies,  and  possessed  of  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  the  causes  which  led  to  the  rebellion,  and  the  means  used 
to  hasten  the  crisis,  he  was  at  home  on  all  colonial  topics ;  while  his 
great  experience  of  both  monarchical  and  democratical  governments, 
derived  from  a  long  residence  in  both,  made  him  a  most  valuable 
authority  on  politics  generally. 

Mr.  Samuel  Slick  is  a  native  of  the  same  parish,  and  received  his 
education  from  Mr.  Hopewell.  I  first  became  acquainted  with  him 
I  while  travelling  in  Nova  Scotia.  He  was  then  a  manufacturer  and 
I  vendor  of  wooden  clo<pks.  My  first  impression  of  him  was  by  no 
means  favorable.  He  forced  himself  most  unceremoniously  into  my 
company  and  conversation.  I  was  disposed  to  shake  him  off,  but 
could  not  Talk  he  would,  and  as  his  talk  was  of  that  kind  which 
did  not  require  much  reply  on  my  part,  he  took  my  silence  for 
acquiescence,  and  talked  on.  I  soon  found  that  he  was  a  character; 
and,  as  he  knew  every  part  of  the  lower  colonies,  and  everybody  in 
them,  I  employed  him  as  my  guide. 

I  have  niade,  at  different  times,  three  several  tours  with  him,  the 
results  of  which  I  have  given  in  three  several  series  of  a  work  en- 
titled the  "  Clockmaker,  or  the  Sayings  and  Doings  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Slick.'*  Our  last  tour  terminated  at  New  York,  where,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  celebrity  he  obtained  from  these  "  Sayings  and  Doings" 
he  received  the  appointment  of  Attache  to  the  American  Legation 
at  the  Court  of  St  James's.  The  object  of  this  work  is  to  continue 
the  record  of  his  observations  and  proceedings  in  England. 

The  third  person  of  the  party,  gentle  reader,  is  your  humble 
.  servant,  Thomas  Poker,  Esquire,  a  native  of  Nova  Scotia,  and  a 
I  retired  member  of  the  Provincial  bar.  My  name  will  seldom  appear 
in  these  pages,  as  I  am  uniformly  addressed  by  both  my  companions 
as  "  Squire,"  nor  shall  I  have  to  perform  the  disagreeable  task  of 
"  reporting  my  own  speeches,"  for  naturally  taciturn,  I  delight  in 
listening  rather  than  talking,  and  modestly  prefer  the  duties  of  an 
amanuensis,  to  the  responsibUities  of  original  composition. 

The  last  personage  is  Jube  Japan,  a  black  servant  of  the  Attach^. 

Such  are  the  persons  who  composed  the  little  party  that  embarked 


SAM  SLIOE  IN  SNOLAND. 


16 


at  New  York,  on  board  the  packet-ship  *  Tyler/  and  sailed  on  the 

of  May,  184 — ,  for  England. 

The  motto  prefixed  to  this  work,  i^A>j»».v  ,j^^'^^ 


Mtao  fiv^fiova  £v/ifrorqv. 


.\>i 


sufficiently  expkuns  its  character.  Classes  and  not  individuals  have 
been  selected  for  observation.  National  traits  are  fair  subjects  for 
satire  or  for  praise,  but  personal  peculiarities  claim  the  pri^ege  of 
exemption  in  right  of  that  hospitality,  through  whose  mediiun  they 
have  been  alone  exhibited.  Public  topics  are  public  property; 
everybody  has  a  right  to  use  them  without  leave  and  without  apology. 
It  is  only  when  we  quit  the  limits  of  this  "  common  "  and  enter  upon 
"  private  grounds,"  that  we  are  guilty  of  "  a  trespass."  This  dis- 
tinction is  alike  obvious  to  good  sense  and  right  feeling.  I  have 
endeavored  to  keep  it  constantly  in  view ;  and  if  at  any  time  I  shall 
be  supposed  to  have  erred  (I  say  "  supposed,"  for  1  am  unconscious 
of  having  done  so)  I  must  claim  the  indulgence  always  granted  to 
involuntary  offences. 

Now,  the  patience  of  my  reader  may  fairly  be  considered  a  "private 
right."  I  shall,  therefore,  respect  its  boundaries,  and  proceed  at 
once  with  my  narrative,  haviug  been  already  quite  long  enough 
about  "  uncorking  a  bottle." 


'!(/■..•-  O 


•••a 


tf'*     .' 


CHAPTER  II. 


■'   M  •'      .'.      m>^y 

'  ■•:     ^>    •  '..'l.;!<r# 


>)..,  A  JUICY   DAY  IN  THE   COUNTRY. 

^M'   f ,  .  '  ,   .. 

All  our  preparations  for  the  voyage  having  been  completed,  we 
spent  the  last  day  at  our  disposal,  in  visiting  Brooklyn.  The  weather 
was  uncommonly  fine,  the  sky  being  perfectly  clear  and  unclouded ; 
and  though  the  sun  shone  out  brilliantly,  the  heat  was  tempered  by 
a  cool,  bracing,  westwardly  wind.  Its  influence  was  perceptible  on 
the  spirits  of  everybody  on  board  the  ferry-boat  that  transported  us 
across  the  harbor. 

**  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  aint  this  as  pretty  a  day  as  you'll  see 
atween  this  and  Nova  Scotia  ? — ^You  can't  beat  American  weather, 
when  it  chooses,  in  no  part  of  the  world  I've  ever  been  in  yet.  This 
day  is  a  tip-topper,  and  it's  the  last  we'll  see  of  the  kind  till  we  get 
back  agin,  /  know.  Take  a  fool's  advise,  for  once,  and  stick  to  it, 
as  long  as  there  is  any  of  it  left,  for  you'll  see  the  difference  when 
you  get  to  England.    There  never  was  so  rainy  a  place  in  the 


16 


THE  ATTACHij;   OR,     i 


unirarse,  as  that,  I  don't  think,  unless  it's  Ireland,  and  the  only 
difference  atween  them  two  is  that  it  rains  every  day  amost  in  Eng^ 
land,  and  in  Ireland  it  rains  every  day  and  every  night,  too.  It's 
awful,  and  you  must  keep  out  of  a  country-house  in  such  weather, 
or  you'll  go  for  it ;  it  will  kill  you,  that's  sartain.  I  shall  never  for- 
get a  juicy  day  I  once  spent  in  one  of  them  dismal  old  places.  I'll 
tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  there.  ^'"  ' 

"  The  last  time  I  was  to  England,  I  was  a  dinin'  with  our  consul 
to  Liverpool,  and  a  very  gentleman-like  old  man  he  was,  too ;  he 
was  appointed  to  Washington,  and  had  been  there  ever  since  our 
glorious  revolution.  Folks  gave  him  a  great  name ;  they  said  he 
was  a  credit  to  us.  Well,  I  met  at  his  table,  one  day,  an  old  country 
squire,  that  lived  somewhere  down  in  Shropshire,  close  on  to  Wales, 
and,  says  he  to  me,  arter  cloth  was  off  and  cigars  on, '  Mr.  Slick,' 
says  he, '  I'U  be  very  glad  to  see  you  to  Norman  Manor,'  (that  was 
the  place  where  he  staid,  when  he  was  to  home).  •  If  you  will  re- 
turn with  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  show  you  the  country  in  my  neigh- 
borhood, which  is  said  to  be  considerable  pretty.' 

"  *  Well,*  says  I, '  as  I  have  nothin'  above  particular  to  see  to,  I 
don't  care  if  I  do  go.' 

"  So,  off  we  started^  and  this  I  will  say,  he  was  as  kind  as  he 
cleverly  knew  how  to  be,  and  that  is  sayin'  a  great  deal  for  a  man 
that  didn't  know  nothin'  out  of  sight  of  his  own  clearin'  hardly. 

"  Now,  when  we  got  there,  the  house  was  chock  full  of  company, 
and  considerin'  it  warn't  an  overly  large  one,  and  that  Britishers 
won't  stay  in  a  house,  unless  every  feller  gets  a  separate  bed,  it's  a 
wonder  to  me,  how  he  stowed  away  as  many  as  he  did.  Says  he, 
*  Excuse  your  quarters,  Mr.  Slick,  but  I  find  more  company  nor  I 
expected  here.  In  a  day  or  two,  some  on  'em  will  be  off,  and  then 
you  shall  be  better  provided.' 

"  With  that  I  was  showed  up  a  great  staircase,  and  out  o*  that  by 
a  door-way  into  a  narrer  entry,  and  from  that  into  an  old  j,  like 
looking  building,  that  stuck  out  behind  the  house.  It  warn't  the 
common  company  sleepin'  room,  I  expect,  but  kinder  make  shifts, 
tho'  they  was  good  enough,  too,  for  the  matter  o'  that ;  at  all  events, 
I  don't  want  no  better. 

"  Well,  I  had  hardly  got  well  housed  a'most,  afore  it  came  on  to 
rain,  as  if  it  was  in  rael  right  down  aimest.  It  warn't  just  a  roarin', 
racin',  sneezin'  rain  like  a  thunder  shower,  but  it  kept  a  steady 
travellin'  gait,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  no  breathin'  time  nor 
batin'  spell.  It  didn't  look  as  it  would  stop  till  it  was  done,  that's  a 
fact.  But  still,  as  it  was  too  late  to  go  out  again  that  artemoon,  I 
didn't  think  much  about  it  then.  I  hadn't  no  notion  what  was  in 
store  for  me  next  day,  no  more  nor  a  child ;  if  I  had,  I'd  a  double 
deal  sooner  hanged  myself,  than  gone  brousing  in  such  place  as 
that,  in  sticky  weather.  ■         ■  •■.  *"v. 


*»* 


SAM  SLICK  Iir  ENGLAND. 


it 


"  A  wet  day  is  considerable  tiresome,  any  vrhhre  6t  any  1*r^y  you 
can  fix  it ;  but  it's  wus  at  an  English  country-house  thani«ny  where 
else,  cause  you  are  among  strangers,  formal,  cold,  gallus  polite,  and 
as  thick  in  the  head-piece  as  a  puncheon.  Tou  hante  nothin'  to  do 
yourself,  and  they  never  have  nothin'  to  do ;  they  don't  know  nothin' 
about  America,  and  don't  want  to.  Your  talk  don't  interest  them, 
and  they  can't  talk  to  interest  nobody  but  themselves;  all  you've  got 
to  do,  is  to  pull  out  your  watch  and  see  how  time  goes ;  how  much 
of  the  day  i^  left,  and,  then,  go  to  the  winder  and  see  how  the  sky 
looks,  and  whether  there  is  any  chance  of  holdin'  np  or  no.  Well, 
that  time  I  went  to  bed  a  little  airlier  than  common,  for  I  felt  con- 
siderable sleepy,  and  considerable  strange,  too;  so,  as  soon  as  I 
cleverly  could,  I  off  and  turned  in. 

"  Well,  I  am  an  airly  riser  myself.  I  always  was  from  a  boy;  so, 
I  waked  up  jist  about  the  time  when  day  ought  to  break,  and  was  a 
thinkin'  to  get  up ;  but  the  shutters  was  too,  and  it  was  as  dark  as 
ink  in  the  room,  and  I  heer'd  it  rainin'  away  for  dear  life.  *  So,' 
sais  I  to  myself,  'what  the  dogs  is  the  use  of  gittin'  up  so  airly  ?  I 
can't  get  out  and  get  a  smoke,  and  I  can't  do  nothin'  here ;  so,  here 
goes  for  a  second  nap.'  Well,  I  was  soon  off  again  in  a  most  a 
beautiful  of  a  snore,  when  all  at  once  I  heard  thump— thump  agin 
the  shutter — and  the  most  horrid  noise  I  ever  heerd  since  I  was 
raised ;  it  was  sunthin'  quite  onairthly. 

" '  Hallo !'  says  I  to  myself,  *  what  in  natur  is  all  this  hubbub 
about  ?  Can  this  here  confounded  old  house  be  hamted  ?  Is  them 
spirits  that's  jabbering  gibberish  there,  or  is  I  wide  awake  or  no  ?* 
So,  I  sets  right  up  on  my  hind  legs  in  bed,  rubs  my  eyes,  opens  my 
ears  and  listens  agin,  when  whop  went  every  shutter  agin,  with  a 
Mead  heavy  sound,  like  somethin'  or  another  thrown  agin  'em,  or 
fallin'  agin  'em,  and  then  comes  the  unknown  tongues  in  discord 
chorus  like.  Sais  I,  'I  know  now,  it's  them  cussed  navigators. 
They've  besot  the  house,  and  are  a  givin'  lip  to  frighten  folks.  It's 
regular  banditti.' 

"  So,  I  jist  hops  out  of  bed,  and  feels  for  my  trunk,  and  outs  with 
my  talkin'  irons,  that  was  all  r^ady  loaded,  pokes  my  way  to  the 
winder — shoves  the  sash  up  and  outs  with  the  shutter,  ready  to  let 
slip  among  'cm.  And  what  do  you  think  it  was  ? — Hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  them  nasty,  dirty,  filthy,  ugly,  black  devils  of  rooks, 
located  in  the  trees  at  the  back  eend  of  the  house.  Old  Nick 
couldn't  have  slept  near  'em ;  caw,  caw,  caw,  all  mixt  up  together 
in  one  jumble  of  a  sound,  like  *  jawe.' 

"  *  You  black,  evil-lookin',  foul-mouthed  villains,*  sais  I,  *  I  *d  like 
no  better  sport  than  jist  to  sit  here,  all  this  blessed  day  with  these 
pistols,  and  drop  you  one  arter  another,  /  know.'  But  they  was 
pets,  was  them  rooks,  and  of  course  like  all  pets,  everlastin'  nui- 
sances to  everybody  else.  '     '■ 


18 


THB  ATTACH^;  OB, 


**  Well,  when  a  man's  in  a  feeze,  there's  no  more  sleep  that  hitch ; 
so  I  dres^s  and  sits  up ;  but  what  was  I  to  do  ?  It  was  jist  half- 
past  four,  and  as  it  was  a  rainin'  like  everything,  I  knowed  break- 
&st  wouldn't  be  ready  till  eleven  o'clock,  for  nobody  wouldn't  get 
up  if  they  could  help  it— they  wouldn't  be  such  fools ;  so  there  was 
jail  for  six  hours  and  a  half. 

"  Well,  I  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  as  easy  as  I  could,  not 
to  waken  folks ;  but  three  steps  and  a  round  turn  makes  you  kinder 
dizzy,  so  I  sits  down  again  to  chaw  the  cud  of  vexation. 

" '  Aint  this  a  handsum'  fix  ?'  sais  I, '  but  it  sarves  you  right, 
what  busniss  had  you  here  at  all  ?  you  always  was  a  fool,  and 
always  will  be  to  the  eend  of  the  chapter. — ^  What  in  natur  are  you 
a  8coldin'  for  ?'  sais  I :  '  that  won't  mend  the  matter ;  how's  time  ? 
They  must  soon  be  a  stirrin'  now,  I  guess.'  Well,  as  I  am  a  livin' 
I  sinner,  it  was  only  five  o'clock ;  '  oh  dear,'  sais  I, '  time  is  like  a 
^  woman  and  pigs,  he  more  you  want  it  to  go,  the  more  it  won't. 
What  on  airth  shall  I  do  ? — guess,  I  '11  strap  my  rasor.' 

"  Well,  I  strapped  and  strapped  avay,  until  it  would  cut  a  single 
hair  pulled  strait  up  on  eend  out  o'  your  head,  without  bendin'  it- 
take  it  off"  slick.  *  Now,'  sais  I, '  I  '11  mend  my  trowsers  I  tore,  a 
goin'  to  see  the  ruin  on*  the  road  yesterday ;"  so  I  takes  out  Sister 
Sail's  little  ceedle-case,  and  sows  away  till  I  got  them  to  look  con- 
siderable jam  agin ;  *  and  then,'  sais  I, '  here's  a  gallus  button  off, 
I  '11  jist  fix  that,'  and  when  that  was  done,  there  was  a  hole  to  my 
yam  sock,  so  I  turned  too  and  darned  that. 

" '  Now,'  sais  I,  *  how  goes  it  ?  I'm  considerable  sharp  set.  It 
must  be  gettin'  tolerable  late  now.'    It  wanted  a  quarter  to  six. 

*  My  I  sakes,'  sais  I,  *  five  hours  and  a  quarter  yet  afore  feedin' 
time ;  well  if  that  don't  pass.  What  shall  I  dv/  next  ?'  *  I'll  teU 
you  what  to  do,'  sais  I,  *  smoke,  that  will  take  the  edge  of  your 
appetite  off,  and  if  they  don't  like  it,  they  may  lump  it ;  what  busi- 
ness have  they  to  keep  them  horrid  screetchin'  infernal  sleepless 
rooks  to  disturb  people  that  way  ?'  Well,  I  takes  a  lucifer,  and 
lights  a  cigar,  and  I  puts  my  head  up  the  chimbly  to  let  the  smoke 
off,  and  it  felt  good,  I  promise  you.  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  enjoyed 
one  half  so  much  afore.  It  had  a  rael  first  chop  4avor  had  that 
cigar. 

"When  that  was  done,  sais  I,*  What  do  you  say  to  another?* 

*  Well,  I  don't  know,'  sais  I,  '  I  should  like  it,  that's  a  fact ;  but 
holdin'  of  my  head  crooked  up  chimbly  that  way,  has  a  most  broke 
my  neck ;  I've  got  the  cramp  in  it  like.' 

"  So  I  sot,  and  shook  my  head  first  a  one  side  and  then  the  other, 
and  then  turned  it  on  its  hinges  as  far  as  it  would  go,  till  it  felt 
about  right,  and  then  I  lights  another,  and  puts  my  head  in  the  flue 
again. 

"  Well,  smokin'  makes  a  feller  feel  kinder  good-natured,  and  I 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


A* 


« 


began.to  think  it  wara't  quite  so  bad  arter  all,  when  whop  went  my 
cigar  right  out  of  my  mouth  into  my  bosom,  atween  the  shirt  and 
the  skin,  and  burnt  me  like  a  gaily  nipper.  Both  my  eyes  was 
fiU'd  at  the  same  time,  and  I  got  a  crack  on  the  pate  from  some, 
critter  or  another  that  clawed  and  scratched  my  head  like  any  thing, 
and  then  seemed  to  empty  a  bushel  of  sut  on  me,  and  I  looked  like 
a  chimbly  sweep,  and  felt  like  old  Scratch  himself.  My  smoke 
had  brought  down  a  chimbly  swaller,  or  a  martin,  or  some  such 
varmint,  for  it  up  and  off  agin'  afore  I  could  catch  it,  to  wring  its 
infernal  neck  off,  that's  a  fact. 

'<  Well,  here  was  somethin'  to  do,  and  no  mistake :  here  was  to 
clean  and  groom  up  agin'  till  all  was  in  its  right  shape ;  and  a 
pretty  job  it  was,  I  tell  you.  I  thought  I  never  should  get  the  sut 
out  of  my  hair,  and  then  never  get  it  out  of  my  brush  again,  and 
my  eyes  smarted  so,  they  did  notlun'  but  water,  and  wink,  and  make 
faces.  But  I  did ;  I  worked  on  and  worked  on,  till  all  was  sot 
rght  once  more. 

" '  Now,*  sais  I,  *  how's  time  ?' '  half-past  seven,'  sais  I,  *  and  three 
liours  and  a  half  more  yet  to  breakfast.  Well,'  sais  I,  *  I  can't 
stand  this — and  what's  more  I  won't :  I  begin  to  get  my  Ebenezer 
up,  and  feel  wolfish.  I'll  ring  up  the  handsum  chamber-maid,  and 
just  fall  to,  and  chaw  her  right  up — I'm  savagerous.*     'That's 

*  The  word  "  savagerous  "  is  not  of  "  Yankee  "  but  of  "  Western  "  origin.— 
Its  use  in  this  place  is  best  explained  by  the  following  extract  from  the  Third 
Series  of  the  Clockmaker.  "  In  order  that  the  sketch  which  I  am  now  about  to 
give  may  be  fully  understood,  it  may  be  necessary  to  request  the  reader  to  re- 
collect that  Mr.  Slick  is  a  Yankee,  a  designation,  the  origin  of  which  is  now  not 
very  obvious,  but  it  has  been  assumed  by,  and  conceded  by  common  consent  to, 
the  inhabitants  of  New  England.  It  is  a  name,  though  sometimes  satirically 
used,  of  which  they  have  great  reason  to  be  proud,  as  it  is  descriptive  of  a  most 
cultivated,  intelligent,  enterprising,  frugal,  and  industrious  population,  who  may 
well  challenge  a  comparison  with  the  inhabitants  of  any  other  country  in  the 
world ;  but  it  has  only  a  local  application. 

"  The  United  States  cover  an  unmensd' extent  of  territory,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  different  parts  of  the  Union  differ  as  widely  in  character,  feelings,  and  even 
in  appearance,  as  the  people  in  different  countries  usually  do.  These  sections 
differ  also  in  dialect  and  in  humor,  as  much  as  in  other  things,  and  to  as  great, 
if  not  a  greater  extent,  than  the  natives  of  different  parts  of  Great  Britain  vary 
from  each  other.  It  is  customary  in  Europe  to  call  all  Americans,  Yankees ; 
but  it  is  as  much  a  misnomer  as  it  would  be  to  call  all  Europeans  Frenchmen. 
Throughout  these  works  it  will  be  observed,  that  Mr.  Slick's  pronunciation  is 
that  of  the  Yankee,  or  an  inhabitant  of  the  ruraZ  districts  of  New  England.  His 
conversation  is  generally  purely  so ;  but  in  some  instances  he  uses,  as  his  coun- 
trymen frequently  do  from  choice,  phrases  which,  though  Americanisms,  are 
not  of  Eastern  origin.  Wholly  to  exclude  these  would  be  to  violate  the  usages 
of  American  life ;  to  introduce  them  oftener  would  be  to  confound  two  dissimi- 
lar dialects,  and  to  make  an  equal  departure  from  the  truth.  Every  section  has 
its  own  characteristic  dialect,  a  very  small  portion  of  which  it  has  imparted  to 
its  neighbors.  The  dry,  quaint  humor  of  New  England  is  occasionally  found 
in  the  west,  and  the  rich  gasconade  and  exaggerative  language  of  the  west  mi- 


20 


THB  attach!:;  OB, 


cowardly/  sais  I,  *  call  the  footman,  pick  a  quarrel  with  him,  and 
i&ick  him  down  stairs,  speak  but  one  word  to  him,  and  let  that  be 
strong  enough  to  skin  the  coon  arter  it  has  killed  him,  the  noise 
will  wake  up  folks  I  know,  and  then  we  shall  have  sunthin'  to  eat/ 

"  I  was  ready  to  bile  right  over,  when  as  luck  would  have  it,  the 
rain  stopt  all  of  a  sudden,  the  sun  broke  out  o'  prison,  and  I  thought 
I  never  seed  any  thing  look  so  green  and  so  beautiful  as  the  country 
did.  '  Ck)me,'  sais  I '  now  for  a  walk  down  the  avenue,  and  a  com- 
fortable smoke,  and  if  the  man  at  the  gate  is  up  and  stirrin',  I  will 
just  pop  in  and  breakfast  with  him  and  his  wife.  There  is  some 
natur  there,  but  here  it's  all  cussed  rooks  and  chimbly  swallers, 
and  heavy  men  and  fat  women,  and  lazy  helps,  and  Sunday  every 
day  in  the  week.'  So  I  fills  my  cigar  case  and  outs  into  the 
passage. 

**  But  here  was  a  fix !  One  of  the  doors  opened  into  the  great 
staircase,  and  which  was  it  ?  *  Ay,'  sais  I, '  which  is  it,  do  you 
know  ?'  *  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know,*  sais  I ;  '  but  try,  it's  no 
use  to  be  caged  up  here  like  a  painter,  and  out  I  will,  that's  a  fact.'  ' 

**  So  I  stops  and  studies,  ^  that's  it,'  sais  I,  and  I  opens  a  door :  it 
was  a  bed-room — ^it  w^  the  likely  chambermaid's. 

"  *  Softly,  Sir,'  sais  she,  a  puttin'  of  her  finger  on  her  lip,  *  d(m't 
Oiake  no  noise ;  Missus  will  hear  you.' 

"  *  Yes,'  sais  I, '  I  won't  make  no  noise ;'  and  I  outs  and  shuts  the 
door  too  arter  me  gently. 

"  *  What  next  ?'  sais  I ;  *  why  you  fool  you,'  sais  I, '  why  didn't 
you  ax  the  sarvant  maid,  which  door  it  was  ?*  '  Why  I  was  so  con- 
flastrigated,'  sais  I,  *  I  didn't  think  of  it.  Try  that  door,'  well  I 
opened  another,  it  belonged  to  one  o'  the  horrid  hansum  stranger 
galls  that  dined  at  table  yesterday.  When  she  seed  me,  she  gave  a 
scream,  popt  her  head  onder  the  clothes,  like  a  terrapin,  and 
vanished — ^well  I  vanished  too. 

*'  *  Ain't  this  too  bad?'  sais  I ;  '  I  wish  I  could  open  a  man's  door, 
rd  lick  him  out  of  spite ;  I  hope  I  may  be  shot  if  I  don't,  and  I 
doubled  up  my  fist,  for  I  didn't  like  it  a  spec,  and  opened  another 
door — it  was  the  housekeeper's.  '  Come,'  sais  I, '  I  won't  be  balked 
no  more.'  She  sot  up  and  fixed  her  cap.  A  woman  never  forgets 
the  becomins. 

"  ♦  Any  thing  I  can  do  for  you.  Sir  ?*  sais  she,  and  she  raelly 
did  look  pretty;  all  good-natured  people,  it  appears  to  me,  do 

look  so.  ■•:■']      -  '-r     ;    i 


grates  not  unfrequently  to  the  east.  This  idiomatic  exchange  is  perceptibly  on 
the  increase.  It  arises  from  the  travelling  propensities  of  the  Americans,  and 
the  constant  intercourse  mutually  maintained  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  different 
States.  A  droll  or  an  original  expression  is  thus  imported  and  adopted,  and, 
though  not  indigenous,  soon  becomes  engrafted  on  the  general  stock  of  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country." — 3d  iSert«»,  p.  142. 


BAM  8LI0K  nr  ENGLAND. 


21 


**  *  Will  70a  be  so  good  as  to  tell  vne,  which  door  leads  to  the 
staircase,  Mann  ?  sais  I. 

^  <  Oh,  is  that  all  ?'  sais  she,  (I  suppose,  she  thort  I  wanted  her 
to  get  up  and  get  breakfast  for  me),  'it's  the  first  on  the  right,  and 
she  fixed  her  cap  agin'  and  laid  down,  and  J  took  the  first  on  the 
right  and  off  like  a  blowed  out-candle.  There  was  the  staircase. 
I  walked  down,  took  my  hat,  onbolted  the  outer  door,  and  what  a 
beautiful  day  was  there.  I  lit  my  cigar,  I  breathed  freely,  and  I 
strolled  down  the  avenue. 

^  The  bushes  glistened,  and  the  grass  glistened,  and  the  air  was 
sweet,  and  the  birds  sung,  and  there  was  natur'  once  more.  I  walked 
to  the  lodge ;  they  had  breakfasted  had  the  old  folks,  so  I  chattered 
away  with  them  for  a  considerable  of  a  spell  about  matters  and 
things  in  general,  and  then  turned  towards  the  house  agin.'  '  Hallo  V 
sais  I,  *  what's  this  ?  wam't  that  a  drop  of  rain  ?'  I  looks  up,  it  was 
another  chower,  by  Gosh.  I  puUs  foot  for  dear  life :  it  was  taU 
walking  you  may  depend,  but  the  shower  wins,  (comprehensive  as 
my  legs  be),  and  down  it  c(»nes,  as  hard  as  all  posset.  *  Take  it 
easy,  Sam,'  sais  I, '  your  flint  is  fixed ;  you  are  wet  thro' — ^runnin' 
won't  dry  you,'  and  I  settled  down  to  a  careless  walk,  quite 
desperate. 

<i  <  Nothin'  in  natur*,  unless  it  is  an  Ingin,  is  so  treacherous  as  the 
climate  here.    It  jist  clears  up  on  purpose,  I  do  belieye,  to  tempt 

Jrou  out  without  your  unbreUer,  and  jist  as  sure  as  you  trust  it  and 
eave  it  to  home,  it  clouds  light  up,  and  sarves  you  out  for  itr— it 
does,  indeed.  What  a  sight  of  new  clothes  I've  spilte  here,  for  the 
rain  has  a  sort  of  dye  in  it.  It  stains  so,  it  alters  the  color  of  the 
cloth,  for  the  smoke  is  filled  with  gas  and  all  sorts  of  chemicals. 
Well^  back  I  goes  to  my  room  agin'  to  the  rooks,  chimbly  swallers, 
and  all,  leavin'  a  grei^t  endurin'  streak  of  wet  arter  me  aU  the  way, 
like  a  cradked  pitcher  that  leaks ;  onriggs,  and  puts  on  dry  clothes 
from  head  to  foot. 

«  By  this  time  breakfast  is  ready ;  but  the  English  don't  do  nothin' 
like  oUier  folks ;  I  don't  know  whether  it's  affectation,  or  bein'  wrong 
in  the  head — a  little  of  both,  I  guess.  Now,  where  do  you  suppose 
the  solid  part  of  breakfast  is.  Squire  ?  Why,  it's  on  the  sideboard— 
I  hope  I  may  be  shot  if  it  ain't — ^well,  the  tea  and  coffee  are  on  the 
table,  to  make  it  as  onconvenient  as  possible. 

*'  Sais  I,  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  as  I  got  up  to  help  myself,  for  I 
was  hungry  enough  to  make  beef  ache,  I  know.  *  Aunty,  sais  I, 
*  you  11  excuse  me,  but  why  don't  you  put  the  eatables  on  the  table, 
or  else  put  the  tea  on  the  sideboard  ?  They're  like  man  and  wife, 
they  don't  ought  to  be  separated,  them  two.'  .:; 

"  She  looked  at  me ;  oh,  what  a  look  of  pity  it  was,  as  much  as  to 
say,  *  Where  have  you  been  all  your  born  days,  not  to  know  better 
nor  that  ? — ^but  I  guess  you  don't  know  better  in  the  States — ^how 


22 


THB  attaoh£;  OB, 


could  yoQ  know  anything  there  ?'    But  she  only  said  it  was  the  cus- 
torn  here,  for  she  was  a  very  purlito  old  woman,  was  Aunty. 

Well,  sense  is  sense,  let  it  grow  where  it  will,  and  I  guess  wo 
raise  about  the  best  kind,  which  is  common  sense,  and  I  wam't  to  be 
put  down  with  short  metre,  arter  that  fashion.  So,  I  tried  the  old 
man ;  sais  I, '  Uncle,'  sais  I,  *  if  you  will  divorce  the  eatables  from  the 
drinkables  that  way,  why  not  let  the  sarvants  come  and  tend  ?  It's 
monstrous  onconvenient  and  ridikilous  to  be  a  jumpin'  up  for  ever- 
lastinly  that  way ;  you  can't  sit  still  one  blessed  minit.' 

^  *  We  think  it  pleasant,'  said  he,  *  sometimes,  to  dispense  with 
their  attendance.' 

"  *  Exactly,'  sais  I,  *  then  dispense  with  sarvants  at  dinner,  for 
when  the  wine  is  in,  the  wit  is  out,'  (I  said  that  to  compliment  him, 
ibr  the  critter  had  no  wit  in  at  no  time,)  *  and  they  hear  all  the  talk. 
But  at  breakfast  every  one  is  only  half  awake,  (especially  when  you 
rise  so  airly  as  you  do  in  this  country,'  sais  I,  but  the  old  critter 
couldn't  see  a  joke,  even  if  he  felt  it,  and  he  didn't  know  I  was  a 
funnin'.)  '  Folks  are  considerably  sharp  set  at  breakfast,'  sais  I,  <  and 
not  very  taHk&tive.  That's  the  right  time  to  have  sarvants  to  tend 
on  you.'  , 

<«  <  What  an  idea  1'  said  he,  and  he  puckered  up  his  pictur,  and  the 
way  he  stared  was  a  caution  to  an  owl. 

^  Well,  we  sot  and  sot  till  I  was  tired ;  so,  thinks  I, '  what's  next? 
for  it's  rainin'  again  as  hard  as  ever.'  So,  I  took  a  turn  in  the  study 
to  sarch  for  a  book,  but  there  was  nothin'  there,  but  a  Guide  to  the 
Sessions,  Bum's  Justice,  and  a  book  of  London  club  rules,  and  two 
or  three  novels.    He  said  he  got  books  from  the  sarkilatin'  library. 

"  *  Lunch  is  ready.* 

"  *  What,  eatin'  agin  ?  My  goody  1'  thinks  I,  *  if  you  are  so  fond 
of  it,  why  the  plague  don't  you  begin  airly?  If  you'd  a  had  it  at 
five  o'clock  this  morning,  I'd  a  done  justice  to  it ;  now,  I  couldn't 
touch  it  if  I  was  to  die.' 

<'  There  it  was,  though.  Help  yourself,  and  no  thanks,  for  there 
is  no  sarvants  agin.  The  rule  here  is,  no  talk,  no  sarvants — and 
when  it's  all  talk,  it's  all  sarvants. 

"  Thinks  I  to  myself, '  now,  what  shall  I  do  till  dinner-time,  for  it 
rains  so  there  is  no  stirrin'  out  ? — Waiter,  where  is  eldest  son  ?— he 
and  I  will  have  a  game  of  billiards,  I  guess.' 

"  *  He  is  laying  down.  Sir.' 

^  *  Shows  his  sense,'  sais  I;  <  I  see,  he  is  not  the  fool  I  took  him  to 
be.  If  I  could  sleep  in  the  day,  I'de  turn  in  too.  Where  is  second 
son  ?' 

"  *  Left  this  momin'  in  the  dose  carriage.  Sir.* 

**  *  Oh,  cuss  him,  it  was  him,  then,  was  it?' 
■>    ««What,Sir?' 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENOLAND. 


i>»». 

V 


1  i 


** '  That  woke  them  confounded  rooks  up,  out  o'  their  fust  nap,  and 
kick't  up  Buch  a  bobbery.    Where  is  the  Parson  ?* 

"♦Which  one,  Sir?' 

« *  The  one  that's  so  fond  of  fishing.' 

"♦Ain'tupyet,  Sir.'  '■    -^  '        <      •     •  • 

"  *  Well,  the  old  boy,  that  wore  breeches?*  -       . 

**  •  Out  on  a  sick  visit  to  one  of  the  cottages,  sir.*  •'  "    -'    ■      •  • 

"  *■  When  he  comes  in,  send  him  to  me :  I'm  shocking  sick.* 

"■  With  that,  I  goes  to  look  arter  the  two  pretty  galls  in  tba  draw- 
ing room ;  and  there  was  the  ladies  a  chatterin'  away  like  any  thing. 
The  moment  I  came  in  it  was  as  dumb  as  a  quaker's  meetin'.  They 
all  hauled  up  at  once,  like  a  stage-coach  to  an  inn-door,  from  a  hand- 
gallop  to  a  stock  still  stand.  I  seed  men  wam't  wanted  there,  it 
wam't  the  custom  so  airly ;  so,  I  polled  out  o'  that  creek,  stam  first. 
They  don't  like  men  in  the  momin',  in  England,  do  the  ladies ;  they 
think  'em  in  the  way. 

"  What,  on  airth,  shall  I  do  ?'  says  I,  <  it's  nothin'  but  rain,  rain, 
rain,  rain,  here — in  this  awful  dismal  country.  Nobody  smokes, 
nobody  ta^s,  nobody  plays  cards,  nobody  fires  at  a  mark,  and  nobody 
trades ;  only  let  me  get  thro'  this  juicy  day,  and  I  am  done ;  let  me 
get  out  of  this  scrape,  and  if  I  am  caught  agin,  I'll  give  you  leave 
to  tell  me  of  it,  in  meetin'.  It  tante  pretty,  I  do  suppose,  to  be  a 
jawin'  with  the  butler,  but  I'll  make  an  excuse  for  a  talk,  for  talk 
comes  kinder  nateral  to  me,  like  suction  to  a  snipe.' 

«*  Waiter?' 

«<Sir.'  .>,,*., 

^  *■  Galls  don't  like  to  be  tree'd  here  of  a  momin',  do  they  T 

«*Sir?' 

"  <  It's  usual  for  the  ladies,'  sais  I,  'to  be  together  in  the  airly  part 
of  the  forenoon  here,  ain't  it,  afore  the  gentlemen  jine  them  ?' 

"'Yes,  Sir.' 

" '  It  puts  me  in  mj"d,'  says  I,  *  of  the  old  seals  down  to  Sable 
Island — ^you  know  where  Sable  Isle  is,  don't  you  ?* 

" '  Yes,  Sir,  it's  in  the  cathedral  down  here.*  ' 

" '  No,  no,  not  that,  it's  an  island  on  the  coast  of  Nova  Scotia. 
You  know  where  that  is,  sartainly  ?' 

"  *  I  never  heard  of  it.  Sir.'  '•  -  ' 

« *  Well,  Lord  love  you !  you  know  what  an  old  seal  is?* 

"  *  Oh,  yes.  Sir,  I'll  get  you  my  master's  in  a  moment.* 

«  And  oflf  he  sot  full  chisel. 

"  Cus  him !  he  is  as  stupid  as  a  rook,  that  crittur,  it's  no  use  to 
tell  him  a  story ;  and  now  I  think  of  it,  I  will  go  and  smoke  them 
black  imps  of  darkness — ^the  rooks. 

"  So,  I  goes  up  Ptairs,  as  slowly  as  I  cleverly  could,  jist  liftin'  one 
foot  arter  anothei  as  if  it  had  a  fifty-six  tied  to  it,  on  puppus  to 
spend  time ;  lit  a  cigar,  opened  the  window  nearest  the  rooks,  and 


24 


THB  ATTACHi!;  OB, 


Bmoked ;  but,  oh,  the  rain  killed  all  the  smoke  in  a  minite ;  it  didn't 
even  make  one  on  'em  sneeze.  '  Dull  musick,  this,  Sam,'  sais  I, 
'  ain't  it  ?  Tell  you  what :  I'll  put  on  my  ile-skin,  take  an  umbreller, 
and  go  and  talk  to  the  stable  helps,  for  I  feel  as  lonely  as  a  cata- 
mount, and  as  dull  as  a  bachelor  beaver.  So,  I  trampousses  off  to 
the  stable ;  and,  sais  I  to  the  head  man,  *  A  smart  little  boss  that,'' 
sais  I, '  you  are  a  cleaning  of;  he  looks  like  a  first  chop  article  that' 

" '  Y  mae','  sais  he. 

"*  *  Hullo,'  says  I, '  wl.at  in  natur'  is  this  ?  Is  it  him  that  can't 
speak  English,  or  me  that  can't  onderstand  ?  for  one  on  us  is  a  fool, 
that's  sartain.    I'll  try  him  agin.' 

"  So,  I  sais  to  him,  ^  He  looks,'  says  I, '  as  if  he'd  trot  a  consider* 
able  good  stick,  that  horse,'  sais  I, '  I  guess  he  is  a  goer.' 

"  <  Y'  mae,  ye  un  trotter  da,'  sais  he. 

" '  Creation  I'  sais  I,  *  if  this  don't  beat  ginend  trainin'.  I  have 
hcerd,  in  my  time,  broken  French,  broken  Scotch,  broken  Irish, 
broken  Yankee,  broken  Nigger,  and  broken  Indgin;  but  I  have 
beam  two  pure  genewine  languages  to-day,  and  no  mistake,  real 
rook,  and  rael  Britton,  and  I  don't  exactly  know  which  I  like  wus. 
It's  no  use  to  stand  talkin'  to  this  critter.     Good-bye,'  sais  I. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  he  said  ?  Why,  you  would  suppose 
he'd  say  good-dye,  too,  wouldn't  you  ?  Well,  he  didn't,  nor  nothin' 
like  it,  but  he  jist  ups,  and  sais, '  Forwelloaugh,'  he  did,  upon  my 
souL  I  never  felt  so  stumpt  afore  in  all  my  life.  Sais  I,  *  Friend, 
here  is  half  a  dollar  for  you;  it  am't  often  I'm  brought  to  a  dead 
stare,  and  when  I  am,  I  am  willin'  to  pay  for  it.' 

"  There's  two  languages,  Squire,  that's  univarsal :  the  language 
of  love,  and  the  language  of  money ;  the  galls  onderstand  the  (me, 
and  the  men  onderstand  the  other,  all  the  wide  world  over,  fix>m 
Canton  to  Niagara.  I  no  sooner  showed  him  the  half-dollar,  than 
it  walked  into  his  pocket,  a  plaguy  sight  quicker  than  it  will  walk 
out,  I  guess. 

^  Sais  I, '  Friend,  you've  taken  the  consait  out  of  me  properly. 
Captain  Hall  said  there  warn't  a  man,  woman,  or  child,  in  the 
whole  of  the  thirteen  united  univarsal  worlds  of  our  great  Bepublic, 
that  could  speak  pure  English  and  I  was  a  goin'  to  kick  him  for  it ; 
but  he  is  right,  arter  all.  There  ain't  one  Uvin'  soul  on  us  can ;  I 
don't  believe  they  ever  as  much  as  heerd  it,  for  I  never  did,  till 
this  blessed  day,  and  there  are  few  things  I  haven't  either  see'd,  or 
heem  tell  of.  Yes,  we  can't  speak  English,  do  you  take  ?'  '  Dim 
comrag,'  says  he,  which  in  Yankee  means, '  that's  no  English,'  and 
be  stood,  looked  puzzled,  and  scratched  his  head,  rael  honsum,  'Dim 
comrag,'  sais  he. 

^  Well,  it  made  me  larf  spiteful.  I  felt  kinder  wicked,  and  as  I 
had  a  hat  on,  and  I  couldn't  scratch  my  head,  I  stood  jist  like  him, 
clown  fashion,  with  my  eyes  wonderin'  and  my  mouth  wide  open, 


WM 


SAM  SLICK   IN  ENGLAND. 


25 


and  put  my  hand  behind  mc,  and  scratched  there ;  and  I  stared,  and 
looked  puzzled  too,  and  made  the  same  identical  vacant  face  he  did, 
and  repeated  arter  him  slowly,  with  another  scratch,  mocking  him 
like,  '  Dim  comrag." 

**  Such  a  pair  o'  fools  you  never  saw.  Squire,  since  the  last  time 
you  shaved  afore  a  lookin'  glass ;  and  the  stable  boys  lari'ed,  and 
he  larfed,  and  I  larfed,  and  it  was  the  only  larf  I  had  all  that  juicy 
day. 

"  Well,  I  turns  agin  to  the  door ;  but  it's  the  old  story  over  again 
— rain,  rain,  rain ;  spatter,  spatter,  spatter — *  I  can't  stop  here  with 
these  true  Brittons,'  sais  I ;  *  guess  I'll  go  and  see  the  old  Squire ; 
he  is  in  his  study.' 

"  So  I  goes  there :  '  Squire,*  sais  I,  *  let  me  offer  you  a  rael 
genewine  Havana  cigar ;  I  can  reconimend  it  to  you.'  He  thanks 
me,  he  don't  smoke,  but  plague  take  him,  he  don't  say,  *  If  you  are 
fond  of  smokin',  pray  smoke  yourself.'  And  he  is  writin',  I  won't 
interrupt  him. 

^  Waiter,  order  me  a  post-chaise,  to  be  here  in  the  momin',  when 
the  rooks  wake.' 

"*  Yes,  Sir,' 

"  Come,  m  try  the  women  folk  in  the  drawin'-room  agin'. 
Ladies  don't  mind  the  rain  here ;  they  are  used  to  it.  It's  like  the 
musk  plant,  arter  you  put  it  to  your  nose  once,  you  can't  smell  it  a 
second  time.  Oh  what  beautiful  galls  they  be !  What  a  shame  it 
is  to  bar  a  feller  out  on  such  a  day  as  this.  One  on  'em  blushes 
like  a  red  cabbage,  when  she  speaks  to  me,  that's  the  one,  I  leckon, 
I  disturbed  this  momin.'  Cuss  the  rooks  1  I'll  pyson  them,  and 
that  won't  make  no  noise. 

"  She  shows  me  the  consarvitery.  *  Take  care  Sir,  your  coat  has 
caught  this  geranium,'  and  she  onhitches  it.  *  Stop,  Sir,  you'll  break 
this  jilly  flower,'  and  she  lifls  off  the  coat  tail  agin ;  in  fact,  it's  so 
crowded,  you  can't  squeeze  along,  scarcely,  without  a  doin'  of 
mischief  somewhere  or  another. 

**  Next  time,  she  goes  first,  and  then  it's  my  turn,  *  Stop,  Miss,' 
sais  X, '  your  frock  has  this  rose  tree  over,'  and  I  loosens  it ;  once 
more,  '  Miss,  this  rose  has  got  tangled,'  and  I  entangles  it  from  her 
furbeloes. 

"I  wonder  what  makes  my  ban  J  shake  so,  and  my  heart  it 
bumps  so,  it  has  bust  a  button  off.  If  I  stay  in  this  consarvitery, 
X  shan't  consarve  myself  long,  that's  a  fact,  for  this  gall  has  put  her 
whole  team  on,  and  is  a  runnin'  me  off  the  road.  '  Hullo !  what's 
that?  Bell  for  dressin'  for  dinner.'  Thank  Heaven*!  I  shall 
escape  from  myself,  and  from  this  beautiful  critter,  too,  for  I'm 
gettin'  spoony,  and  shall  talk  silly  presently. 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  left  alone  with  a  gall,  its  plaguy  apt  to  set  me 
a  soft  sawderiu'  and  a  courtin'.    There's  a  sort  of  nateral  attraction 

2 


lET 


I  pp    jm   ■  II 


26 


THE  ATTACH^  ;   OR, 


like  in  this  world.  Two  siiips  in  a  calm,  are  sure  to  get  up  along- 
side of  each  other,  if  there  is  no  wind,  and  they  have  nothin'  to  do, 
but  look  at  each  other ;  natur'  does  it.  Well,  even  the  tongs  and 
the  shovel  won't  stand  alone  long ;  they're  sure  to  get  on  the  same 
side  of  the  fire,  and  be  sociable ;  one  on  'em  has  a  loadstone  and 
draws  'tother,  that's  sartin.  If  that's  the  case  with  hard-hearted 
things,  like  oak  and  iron,  what  is  it  with  tender-hearted  things  like 
humans  ?  Shut  me  up  in  a  'sarvatory  with  a  hansum  gall  of  a 
rainy  day,  and  see  if  I  don't  think  she  is  the  sweetest  flower  in  it. 
Yes,  I  am  glad  it  is  the  dinaer-oell,  for  I  ain't  ready  to  marry  yet, 
and  when  I  am,  I  guess  I  must  get  a  gall  where  I  got  my  boss,  in 
Old  Connecticut,  and  that  state  takes  the  shine  off  all  creation  for 
geese,  galls,  and  onions,  that's  a  fact. 

"  "Well,  dinner  won't  wait,  so  I  ups  agin  once  more  near  the  rooks, 
to  brush  up  a  bit ;  but  there  it  is  again,  the  same  old  tune,  the  whole 
blessed  day,  rain,  rain,  rain.  It's  rained  all  day  and  don't  talk  of 
stoppin'  nother.  How  I  hate  the  sound,  and  how  streaked  I  feel. 
I  don't,  mind  its  buskin'  my  voice,  for  there  is  no  one  to  talk  to ; 
but  cuss  it,  it  has  softened  my  bones. 

"  Dinner  is  ready ;  the  rain  has  damped  every  body's  spirits,  and 
squenched  'em  out ;  even  champaign  won't  raise  'em  agin ;  feedin* 
is  heavy,  talk  is  heavy,  time  is  heavy,  tea  is  heavy,  and  there  ain't 
no  musick;  the  only  thing  that's  light  is  a  bed-room  candid- 
heavens  and  airth  how  glad  I  am  tins  Juicy  day  is  over  I" 


CHAPTER   III 

TYING    A    NIGHT-CAP. 

In  the  preceding  sketch  I  have  given  Mr.  Slick's  account  of  the 
English  climate,  and  his  opinion  of  the  dullness  of  a  countryrhouse, 
as  nearly  as  possible  in  his  own  words.  It  struck  me  at  the  time 
that  they  were  exaggerated  views ;  but  if  the  weather  was  unpro- 
pitious,  and  the  company  not  well  selected,  I  can  easily  conceive, 
that  the  impression  on  his  mind  would  be  as  strong  and  unfavorable, 
as  he  has  described  it  to  have  been. 

The  climate  of  England  is  healthy,  and  as  it  admits  of  much  out- 
door exercise,  and  is  not  subject  to  any  very  sudden  variation,  or 
violent  extremes  of  heat  and  cold,  it  may  be  said  to  be  good,  though 
not  agreeable ;  but  its  great  humidity  is  very  sensibly  felt  by 
Americans  and  other  foreigners  accustomed  to  a  dry  atmosphere 
and  clear  sky.    That  Mr.  Slick  should  find  a  rainy  day  in  the 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


27 


country  dull,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at ;  it  is  probable  it  wou^d  be 
so  any  where,  to  a  man  who  had  so  few  resources,  within  himself, 
as  the  Attache.  Much  of  course  depends  on  the  inmates ;  and  the 
company  at  the  Shropshire  house,  to  which  he  alludes,  do  not  ap- 
pear to  have  been  the  best  calculated  to  make  the  state  of  the 
weather  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him. 

I  cannot  say,  but  that  I  have  at  times  suffered  a  depression  of 
spirits  from  the  frequent,  and  sometimes  long-continued  rains  of  this 
country;  but  I  do  not  know  that,  as  an  ardent  admirer  of  scenery, 
I  would  desire  less  humidity,  if  it  diminished,  as  I  fear  it  would, 
the  extraordinary  verdure  and  great  beauty  of  the  English  land- 
scape. With  respect  to  my  own  visits  at  country-houses,  I  have 
generally  been  fortunate  in  the  weather,  and  always  in  the  com- 
pany ;  but  I  can  easily  conceive,  that  a  man  situated  as  Mr.  Slick 
appears  to  have  been  with  respect  to  both,  would  find  the  combina- 
tion intolerably  dull.     But  to  return  to  my  narrative. 

J^arJ'  on  the  following  day  we  accompanied  our  luggage  to  the 
wharf,  where  a  small  steamer  lay  to  convey  us  to  the  usual  anchor- 
age ground  of  the  packets,  in  the  bay.  We  were  attended  by  a 
large  concourse  of  people.  The  piety,  learning,  unaffected  sim- 
plicity, and  kind  disposition  of  my  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Hopewell, 
were  well  known  and  fully  appreciated  by  the  people  of  New  York, 
who  were  anxious  to  testify  their  respect  for  his  virtues,  and  their 
sympathy  for  his  unmerited  persecution,  by  a  personal  escort  and  a 
cordial  farewell. 

"Are  all  those  people  going  with  us,  Sam?"  said  he.    "How 
pleasant  it  will  be  to  have  so  many  old  friends  on  board,  won't  it  ?" 
"  No,  sir,"  said  the  Attache,  "  they  are  only  a  goin'  to  see  you  on 
board — it  is  a  mark  of  respect  to  you.    They  will  go  down  to  the 
*  Tyler,'  to  take  their  last  farewell  of  you." 

"Well,  that's  kind  now,  ain't  it?"  he  replied.  "I  suppose  they 
thought  I  would  feel  kinder  dull  and  melancholy  like,  on  leaving 
my  native  land  this  way ;  and  I  must  say  I  don't  feel  jist  altogether 
right  neither.  Ever  so  many  things  rise  right  up  in  my  mind,  not 
one  arter  another,  but  all  together  like,  so  that  I  can't  take  'em  one 
by  one  and  reason  'em  down,  but  they  jist  overpower  me  by  num- 
bers.    You  understand  me,  Sam,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Poor  old  critter !"  said  Mr.  Slick  to  me  in  an  under-tone,  "  it's 
no  wonder  he  is  sad,  is  it  ?  I  must  try  to  cheer  him  up  if  I  can. 
Understand  you, minister  1"  said  he,  "to  be  sure  I  do.  I  have  been 
that  way  often  and  often.  That  was  the  case  when  I  was  to  Lowell 
factories,  with  the  galls  a  taking  of  them  off  in  the  paintin'  line. 
The  dear  little  critters  kept  up  such  an  everlastin'  almighty  clatter, 
clatter,  clatter ;  jabber,  jabber,  jabber,  aU  talkin'  and  ohatterin'  at 
once,  you  couldn't  hear  no  blessed  one- of  them  ;  and  they  jist  fairly 
stunned  a  feller.    For  nothm'  in  natur*,  unless  it  be  perpetual  mo- 


28 


THE   ATTACHE:    OR 


tion,  can  equal  a  woman's  tongue.  It's  most  a  pity  we  hadn't  some 
of  the  angiliferous  little  dears  with  us  too,  for  they  do  make  the  time 
pass  quick,  that's  a  fact.  I  want  some  one  on  'em  to  tie  a  night-cap 
for  me  to-night ;  1  don't  commonly  wear  one,  but  I  somehow  kinder 
guess,  I  intend  to  have  one  this  time,  and  no  mistake." 

"  A  night-cap,  Sam !"  said  he.  "  Why,  what  on  auth  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you,  minister,"  said  he.  "  You  recollect  sister 
Sail,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  he  ;  "  and  an  excellent  girl  she  is  :  a  dutiful 
daughter,  and  ^  kind  and  affectionate  sister.  Yes,  she  is  a  good 
girl,  is  Sally,  a  very  good  girl  indeed  ;  but  what  of  her  ?" 

*'  Well,  she  was  a  most  a  beautiful  critter,  to  brew  a  glass  of 
whisky  toddy,  as  ever  I  see'd  in  all  my  travels,  was  sister  Sail, 
and  I  used  to  call  that  tipple,  when  I  took  it  latfe,  a  night-cap ; 
apple  jack  and  white  nose  ain't  the  smallest  part  of  a  circumstance 
to  it.  On  such  an  occasion  as  this,  minister,  when  a  body  is  leavin' 
the  greatest  nation  atween  the  poles,  to  go  among  benighted,  igno- 
rant, insolent  foreigners,  you  wouldn't  object  to  a  night-cap,  now 
would  you  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  would,  Sam,"  said  he  ;  "  parting  from 
friends,  whether  temporarily  or  for  ever,  is  a  sad  thing,  and  the 
former  is  typical  of  the  latter.  No,  I  do  not  know  as  I  would. 
We  may  use  these  things,  but  not  abuse  them.  Be  temperate,  be 
moderate,  but  it  is  a  sorry  heart  that  knows  no  pleasure.  Take 
your  night-cap,  Sam,  and  then  commend  yourself  to  His  safe  keep- 
ing, who  rules  the  wind  and  the  waves :  to  Him  who — " 

"  Well,  then,  minister,  what  a  dreadful  awful-looking  thing  a 
night-cap  is  without  a  tatsel,  ain't  it  ?  Oh  !  you  must  put  a  tassel 
on  it,  and  that  is  another  glass.  Well,  then,  what  is  the  use  of  a 
night-cap,  if  it  has  a  tassel  on  it,  but  has  no  string  ?  It  will  slip 
oft*  your  head  the  very  first  turn  you  take ;  and  that  is  another 
glass,  you  know.  But  one  string  won't  tie  a  cap ;  one  hand  can't 
shake  hands  along  with  itself:  you  must  have  two  strings  to  it,  and 
that  brings  one  glass  more.  Well,  then,  what  is  the  use  of  two 
strings,  if  they  ain't  fastened  ?  If  you  want  to  keep  the  cap  on,  it 
must  be  tied,  that's  sartain,  and  that  is  another  go  ;  and  then,  minis- 
ter, what  an  everlastin'  miserable  stingy,  ongenteel  critter  a  feller 
must  be,  that  won't  drink  to  the  health  of  the  Female  Brewer  I 
Well,  that's  another  glass  to  sweethearts  and  wives,  and  then  turn 
in  for  sleep,  and  that's  what  I  intend  to  do  to-night.  I  guess  I'll 
tie  the  night-cap  this  hitch,  if  I  never  do  agin,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"  Oh,  Sam,  Sam  !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  for  a  man  that  is  wide 
awake  and  duly  sober,  I  never  saw  one  yet  that  talked  such  non- 
sense as  you  do.  You  said  you  understood  me,  but  you  don't,  one 
mite  or  morsel ;   but  men  are  made  difterently :   some  people's 


«« 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


29 


narves  operate  on  the  brain  aensitiveli/,  and  give  them  exquisite 
pain  or  excessive  pleasure ;  other  folks  seem  as  if  they  had  no 
narves  at  all.  You  understand  my  words,  but  you  don't  enter  into  my 
feelings.  Distressing  images  rise  up  in  my  mind  in  such  rapid  sue-" 
cession,  I  can't  master  them,  but  they  master  me.  They  come 
slower  to  you,  and  the  moment  you  see  their  shadows  before  you, 
you  turn  round  to  the  light,  and  throw  these  dark  figures  behind 
you.  I  can't  do  that ;  I  could  when  I  was  younger,  but  I  can't 
now.  Reason  is  comparing  two  ideas,  and  drawing  an  inference. 
Insanity  is,  when  you  have  such  a  rapid  succession  of  ideas,  that 
you  can't  compare  them.  How  great,  then,  must  be  the  pain  when 
you  are  almost  pressed  into  insanity,  and  yet  retain  your  reason ! 
What  is  a  broken  heart  ?  Is  it  death  ?  I  think  it  must  be  very 
like  it,  if  it  is  not  a  figure  of  speech,  for  I  feel  that  my  heart  is 
broken,  and  yet  I  am  as  sensitive  to  pain  as  ever.  Nature  cannot 
stand  this  suffering  long.  You  say  these  good  people  have  come  to 
take  their  last  farewell  of  me  ;  most  likely,  Sam,  it  is  a  last  fare- 
well. I  am  an  old  man  now,  I  am  well  stricken  in  years  ;  shall  I 
ever  live  to  see  my  native  land  again  ?  I  know  not — the  Lord's 
will  be  done  !  If  I  had  a  wish,  I  should  desire  to  return  to  be  lain 
with  my  kindred,  to  repose  in  death  with  those  that  were  the  com- 
panions of  my  earthly  pilgrimage  ;  but  if  it  be  ordered  otherwise, 
I  am  ready  to  say  with  truth  and  meekness,  *  Lord,  now  lettest 
Thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'  " 

When  this  excellent  old  man  said  that,  Mr.  Slick  did  not  enter 
into  his  feelings — he  did  not  do  him  justice.  His  attachment  to  and 
veneration  for  his  aged  pastor  and  friend  were  quite  filial,  and  such 
as  to  do  honor  to  his  head  and  heart.  Those  persons  who  have 
made  character  a  study,  will  all  agree,  that  the  cold  exterior  of  the 
New  England  man  arises  from  other  causes  than  a  coldness  of  feel- 
ing. Much  of  the  rhodomontade  of  the  Attache,  addressed  to  Mr. 
Hopewell,  was  uttered  for  the  kind  purpose  of  withdrawing  his 
attention  from  those  griefs  which  preyed  so  heavily  upon  his 
spirits. 

"  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  come,  cheer  up,  it  makes  me  kinder 
dismal  to  hear  you  talk  so.  When  Captain  McKenzie  hanged  up 
them  three  free  and  enlightened  citizens  of  ours  on  board  of  the — 
Somers — he  gave  'em  three  cheers.  We  are  worth  half  a  dozen 
dead  men  yet,  so  cheer  up.  Talk  to  these  friends  of  ourn ;  they 
might  think  you  considerable  starch  if  you  don't  talk ;  and  talk  is 
cheap,  it  don't  cost  nothin'  but  breath,  a  scrape  of  your  hind  leg,  and 
a  jupe  of  the  head,  that's  a  fact." 

Having  thus  engaged  him  in  conversation  with  his  friends,  we 
proceeded  on  board  the  steamer,  which,  in  a  short  time,  was  along- 
side of  the  great  '<  Liner."     The  day  was  now  spent,  and  Mr. 


\ 


•< 


\    A 


80 


THE  AlTACHt;  OB, 


Hopewell  having  taken  leave  of  his  escort,  retired  to  his  cabin,  very 
much  overpowered  by  his  feelings.  ' 

Mr.  Slick  insisted  on  his  companions  taking  a  parting  glass  with 
him,  and  I  was  much  amused  with  the  advice  given  him  by  some  of 
his  young  friends  and  admirers.  He  was  cautioned  to  sustain  the 
high  character  of  the  nation  abroad ;  to  take  care  that  he  returned 
as  he  went — a  true  American ;  to  insist  upon  the  possession  of  the 
Oregon  Territory;  to  demand  and  enforce  his  right  position  in 
society ;  to  negotiate  the  national  loan ;  and  above  all,  never  to 
accede  to  the  right  of  search  of  slave-vessels ;  all  which  having 
been  duly  promised,  they  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  each  other, 
and  we  remained  on  board,  intending  to  depart  in  the  course  of  the 
following  morning. 

As  soon  a^  they  had  gone,  l^fr.  Slick  ordered  materials  for  brew- 
ing, namely :  whisky,  hot  water,  sugar  and  lemon  ;  and  having  duly 
prepared,  in  regular  succession,  the  cap,  the  tassel,  and  the  two 
strings,  filled  his  tumbler  again,  and  said : 

"  Come  now,  Squire,  before  we  turn  in,  let  us  tie  the  nightcap,'* 


CHAPTER    IV. 


HOME    AND    THE    SEA. 


At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day  the  "  Tyler,"  having  shaken  out 
her  pinions,  and  spread  them  to  the  breeze,  commenced  at  a  rapid 
rate  her  long  and  solitary  voyage  across  the  Atlantic.  Object  after 
object  rose  in  rapid  succession  into  distinct  view,  was  approached 
and  passed,  until,  leaving  the  calm  and  sheltered  waters  of  the  bay, 
we  emerged  into  the  ocean,  and  involuntarily  turned  to  look. back 
upon  the  land  we  had  left.  Long  after  the  lesser  hills  and  low 
country  had  disappeared,  a  few  ambitious  peaks  of  tlie  highlands 
still  met  the  eye,  appearing  as  if  they  had  advanced  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  water,  to  prolong  thw  view  of  us  till  the  last  moment. 
This  coast  is  a  portion  of  my  native  continent,  for  though  not  a 
/  subject  of  the  Republic,  I  am  still  an  American  in  its  larger  sense, 
)  having  been  bom  in  a  British  province  in  this  hemisphere.  I  there* 
fore  sympathized  with  the  feelings  of  my  two  companions,  whose 
straining  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  those  dim  and  distant  specks  in 
the  horizon. 

"  There,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  rising  from  his  seat,  "  I  believe  we 
have  seen  the  last  of  home  till  next  time  ;  and  this  I  will  say,  it  is 
the  most  glorious  country  oader  the  sun ;  travel  where  you  will, 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


81 


you  won't  ditto  it  no  where.  It  is  the  toplofliest  place  in  all  crea- 
tion, ain't  it,  minister  ?" 

There  was  no  response  to  all  this  bombast.  It  was  evident  he 
had  not  been  heard ;  and  turning  to  Mr.  Hopewell,  I  observed  hi§ 
eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the  distance,  and  his  mind  pre-occupied 
by  painful  reflections,  for  tears  were  coursing  after  each  other  down 
his  furrowed  but  placid  cheek. 

"  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick  to  me,  "  this  won't  do.  We  must  not 
allow  him  to  dwell  too  long  on  the  thoughts  of  leaving  home,  or 
he'll  droop  like  any  thing,  and  p'raps,  hang  his  head  and  fade  right 
away.  He  is  aged  and  feeble,  and  everything  depends  on  keeping 
up  his  spirits.  An  old  plant  must  be  shaded,  well  watered,  and 
tended,  or  you  can't  transplant  it  no  how  you  can  fix  it,  that's  a 
fact.  He  won't  give  ear  to  me  now,  for  he  knows  I  can't  talk 
serious,  if  I  was  to  try ;  but  he  will  listen  to  you.  Try  to  cheer 
him  up,  and  I  will  go  down  below  and  give  you  a  chance." 

As  soon  as  I  addressed  him,  he  started  and  said,  ''  Oh !  is  it  you, 
Squire  ?  come  and  sit  down  by  me,  my  friend.  I  can  talk  to  yoUj 
and  I  assure  you  I  take  great  pleasure  in  doing  so.  I  cannot  always 
talk  to  Sam :  he  is  excited  now ;  he  is  anticipating  great  pleasure 
from  his  visit  to  England,  and  is  quite  boisterous  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  spirits.  I  own  I  am  depressed  at  times  ;  it  is  natural 
I  should  bC)  but  I  shall  endeavor  not  to  be  the  cause  of  sadness 
in  others.  I  not  only  like  cheerfulness  myself,  but  I  like  to  pro- 
mote it ;  it  is  a  sign  of  an  innocent  mind,  and  a  heart  in  peace 
with  God  and  in  charity  with  man.  All  nature  is  cheerful,  its 
voice  is  harmonious,  and  its  countenance  smiling ;  the  very  garb  in 
which  it  is  clothed  is  gay  ;  why  then  should  man  be  an  exception 
to  everything  around  him?  Sour  sectarians,  who  address  our 
fears,  rather  than  our  affections,  may  say  what  they  please.  Sir, 
mirth  is  not  inconsistent  with  religion,  but  rather  an  evidence  that 
our  religion  is  right.  If  I  appear  dull,  therefore,  do  not  suppose 
it  is  because  I  think  it  necessary  to  be  so,  but  because  certain 
reflections  are  natural  to  me  as  a  clergyman,  as  a  man  far  advanced 
in  years,  and  as  a  pilgrim  who  ^  laves  his  home  at  a  period  of  life, 
when  the  probabilities  are,  he  may  not  be  spared  to  revisit  it. 

''  I  am,  like  yourself,  a  colonist  by  birth.  At  the  revolution,  I 
took  no  part  in  the  struggle;  my  profession  and  my  habits  both 
exempted  me.  Whether  the  separation  was  justifiable  or  not, 
either  on  civil  or  religious  principles,  it  is  not  now  necessary  to 
discuss.  It  took  place,  however,  and  the  colonies  became  a  nation, 
and  after  due  consideration,  I  concluded  to  dwell  among  'mine 
own  people.*  There  I  have  continued,  with  the  exception  of  one 
or  two  short  journeys  for  the  benefit  of  my  health,  to  the  present 
period.  Parting  with  those  whom  I  have  known  so  long  and  loved 
so  well,  is  doubtless  a  trial  to  one  whose  heart  is  stiU  warm,  while 


"^f^PW^^)^P»WW"«"1P'^^ 


nmtm 


. 


82 


THE  ATTACHi;;  OR, 


his  nerves  are  weak,  and  whose  affections  are  greater  than  his  firm- 
ness.    But  I  weary  you  with  this  egotism  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  I  replied,  "I  am  both  instructed  and  delighted  by 
your  conversation.     Pray  proceed.  Sir." 

"  Well,  it  is  kind,  very  kind  of  you,"  said  he,  ""Xo  say  so.  I  will 
explain  these  sensations  to  you,  and  then  endeavor  never  to  allude 
to  them  again.  America  is  my  birth-^place  and  my  home.  Home 
has  two  significations,  a  restricted  one  and  an  enlarged  one  ;  in  its 
restricted  sense,  it  is  the  place  of  our  abode,  it  includes  our  social 
circle,  our  parents,  children,  and  friends,  and  contains  the  living 
and  the  dead ;  the  past  and  the  present  generations  of  our  race. 
By  a  very  natural  process,  the  scene  of  our  affections  soon  becomes 
identified  with  them,  and  a  portion  of  our  regard  is  transferred 
from  animate  to  inanimate  objects.  The  streams  on  which  we 
sported,  the  mountains  on  which  we  clambered,  the  fields  in  which 
we  wandered,  the  school  where  we  were  instructed,  the  church 
where  we  worshipped,  the  very  bell  whose  pensive  melancholy 
music  recalled  our  wandering  steps  in  youth,  awaken  in  after  years 
many  a  tender  thought,  many  a  pleasing  recollection,  and  appeal  to 
the  heart  with  the  forop  and  eloquence  of  love.  The  country  again 
contains  all  these  things,  the  sphere  is  widened,  new  objects  are 
included,  and  this  extension  of  the  circle  is  love  of  country.  It 
is  thus  that  the  nation  is  said  in  an  enlarged  s^ise,  to  be  our  home 
also. 

"  This  love  of  country  is  both  natural  and  laudable  :  so  natural, 
that  to  exclude  a  man  from  his  country,  is  the  greatest  punishment 
that  country  can  inflict  upon  him ;  and  so  laudable,  that  when  it 
becomes  a  principle  of  action,  it  forms  the  hero  and  the  patriot. 
How  impressive,  how  beautiful,  how  dignified  was  the  answer  of 
the  Shunamite  woman  to  Elisha,  who,  in  his  gratitude  to  her  for 
her  hospitality  and  kindness,  made  her  a  tender  of  his  interest  at 
court.'  '  Wouldst  thou,'  said  he,  '  be  spoken  for  to  the  king,  or  to 
the  captain  of  the  host  ?' — What  an  offer  was  that,  to  gratify  her 
ambition  or  flatter  her  pride!  *  I  dwell,*  she  said,  ^  among  mine 
own  people.'  What  a  characteristic  answer !  all  history  furnishes 
no  parallel  to  it. 

"  I  too  dwell  *  amonp;  my  own  people  i  my  affections  are  there, 
and  there  aV     »        a  sphere  of  my  duties;  and  if  I  am  depressed 


.:D 


by  the  tb 

justice  V-        }  i" , 

witness  tb.   u).:cr". 

"  But  thi"  i;;    •' 


ng  from  *  my  people,'  I  will  do  you  the 

cu  would  rather  bear  with  its  effects,  than 

ch  natural  affection. 

sole  cause :  independently  of  some  afflic- 
tions of  a  clerical  nature  in  my  late  parish,  to  which  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  allude,  the  contemplation  of  this  vast  and  fathomless  ocean, 
both  from  its  novelty  and  its  grandeur,  overwhelms  me.  At  home 
I  am  fond  of  tracing  the  Creator  in  His  works.    From  the  erratic 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


8& 


comet  in  the  firmament,  to  the  flower  that  blossoms  in  the  field ;  in 
all  animate,  and  inanimate  matter ;  in  all  that  is  animal,  vegetablti 
or  mineral,  I  see  His  infinite  wisdom,  aLaighty  power,  and  ever- 
lasting glory. 

*'  But  that  home  is  inland ;  I  have  not  beheld  the  sea  now  for 
many  years.  I  never  saw  it  without  emotion ;  I  now  view  it  with 
awe.  What  an  emblem  of  eternity ! — Its  dominion  is  alone  reserved 
to  Him  who  made  it.  Changing  yet  changeless— ever  varying,  yet 
always  the  same.  How  weak  and  powerless  is  man!  how  short 
his  span  of  life,  when  he  is  viewed  in  connection  with  the  sea !  He 
has  left  no  trace  upon  it — it  will  not  receive  the  impress  of  his 
hands ;  it  obeys  no  laws,  but  those  imposed  upon  it  by  Him,  who 
called  it  into  existence;  generation  after  generation  has  looked 
upon  it  as  we  now  do— and  where  are  they  ?  Like  yonder  waves 
that  press  upon  each  other  in  regular  succession,  they  have  passed 
away  for  ever ;  and  their  nation,  their  language,  their  temples  and 
their  tombs  have  perished  with  them.  But  there  is  the  Undying 
I  one.  When  man  was  formed,  the  voice  of  the  ocean  was  heard,  as 
j  it  now  is,  speaking  of  its  mysteries,  and  proclaiming  His  glory,  who 
I  alone  lifteth  its  waves,  or  stilleth  the  rage  thereof. 

"  And  yet,  my  dear  friend,  for  so  you  must  allow  me  to  call  you, 

awful  as  these  considerations  are,  which  it  suggests,  who  are  they  that 

go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  and  occupy  their  business  in  great 

waters  ?    The  sordid  trader,  and  the  armed  and  mercenary  sailor : 

I  gold  or  blood  is  their  object,  and  the  fear  of  God  is  not  always  in 

I  them.    Yet  the  sea  shall  give  up  its  dead,  as  well  as  the  grave ; 

I  and  all  shall 

"  But  it  is  not  my  intention  to  preach  to  you.  To  intrude  seri- 
i  ous  topics  upon  our  friends  at  all  times,  has  a  tendency  to  make 
both  ourselves  and  our  topics  distasteful.  I  mention  these  things  to 
i  you,  not  that  they  are  not  obvious  to  you  and  every  other  right- 
'<  minded  man,  or  that  I  think  I  can  clothe  them  in  more  attractive 
language,  or  utter  them  with  more  effect  than  others ;  but  merely  to 
account  for  my  absence  of  mind  and  evident  air  of  abstraction.  I 
know  my  days  are  numbered,  and  in  the  nature  of  things,  that  those 
that  are  left,  cannot  be  many. 

"  Pardon  me,  therefore,  I  pray  you,  my  friend  ;  make  allowances 
for  an  old  man,  unaccustomed  to  leave  home,  and  uncertain  whether 
he  shall  ever  be  permitted  to  return  to  it.  I  feel  deeply  and  sensi- 
bly your  kindnecjR  in  soUciting  my  company  on  this  tour,  and  will 
endeavor  so  to  regulate  my  feelings  as  not  to  make  you  regret  your 
invitation.  I  shall  not  again  recur  to  these  topics,  or  trouble  you 
with  any  further  reflections  '  on  Home  and  the  Sea.' " 


2* 


-I 


84 


THE  ArrAOH^;  ob, 


CHAPIER  V. 

T'OTHER    EEND    OF    THE    GUN. 

**  Squibe,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  one  morning  when  we  were  alone 
on  the  quarter-deck,  <'  sit  down  by  me,  if  you  please.  I  wish  to 
have  a  little  private  conversation  with  you.  I  am  a  good  deal  con- 
cerned about  Sam.  I  never  liked  this  appointment  he  has  received: 
neither  his  education,  his  habits,  nor  his  manners  have  qualified  him 
for  it.  He  is  fitted  for  a  trader,  and  for  nothing  else.  He  looks 
upon  politics  as  he  does  upon  his  trafiic  in  clocks,  rather  as  profita- 
ble to  himself  than  (beneficial  to  others.  Self  is  predominant  with 
him.  He  overrates  the  importance  of  his  office,  as  he  will  find 
when  he  arrives  in  London ;  but  what  is  still  worse,  he  overrates 
the  importance  of  the  opinions  of  others  regarding  the  States. 

"  He  has  been  reading  that  foolish  book  of  Cooper's  *  Gleanings 
in  Europe,'  iind  intends  to  show  fight,  he  says.  He  called  my  at- 
tention, yesterday,  to  this  absurd  passage,  which  he  maintains  is  the 
most  manly  and  sensible  thing  that  Cooper  ever  wrote:  'This  indif- 
ference to  the  feelings  of  others  is  a  dark  spot  on  the  national  man- 
ners of  England.  The  only  way  to  put  it  down,  is  to  become 
belligerent  yourself,  by  introducing  Pauperism,  Radicalism,  Ireland, 
the  Indies,  or  some  other  sore  point  Like  all  who  make  butts  of 
others,  they  do  not  manifest  the  proper  forbearance  when  the  tables 
are  turned.  Of  this  I  have  had  abundance  of  proof  in  my  own 
experience.  Sometimes  their  remarks  are  absolutely  rude,  and 
personally  offensive,  as  a  disregard  of  one's  national  character  is  a 
disrespect  to  his  principles  ;  but  as  personal  quarrels  on  such  grounds 
are  to  be  avoided,  I  have  uniformly  retort''d  in  kind,  if  there  was 
the  smallest  opening  for  such  retaliation.' 

**  Now,  every  gentleman  in  the  States  repudiates  such  sentiments 
as  these.  My  object  in  mentioning  the  subject  to  you,  is  to  request 
the  favor  of  you  to  persuade  Sam  not  to  be  too  sensitive  on  these 
topics ;  not  to  take  offence,  where  it  is  not  intended ;  and,  above 
all,  rather  to  vindicate  his  nationality  by  his  conduct,  than  to  justify 
those  aspersions  by  his  intemperate  behavior.  But  here  he  comes : 
I  shall  withdraw,  and  leave  you  together." 
"  Fortunately,  Mr.  Slick  commenced  talking  upon  a  topic  which 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


85 


naturally  led  to  that  to  which  Mr.  Hopewell  had  wished  me  to  durect 
his  attention. 

"  Well,  Squire,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad,  too,  you  are  a  goin'  to 
£ngland  along  with  me :  we  will  ti^e  a  rise  out  of  John  Bull, 
won't  we  ?  "We've  hit  Blue-nose  and  Brother  Jonathan  hoth  pretty  ^ 
considerable  tarnation  hard,  and  John  has  split  his  sides  with  larfter.  > 
Let's  tickle  him  now,  by  feelin'  his  own  short  ribs,  and  see  how  he 
will  liko  it ;  we'll  soon  see  whose  hide  is  the  thickest,  hisn  or  ourn, 
won't  we  ?  Let's  see  whether  he  will  say  chee,  chee,  chee,  when  he 
gets  to  the  t'other  eend  of  the  gun." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  saying  ?"  I  asked.  "  I  never  heard 
it  before." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  when  I  was  a  considerable  of  a  growd  up 
saplin  of  a  boy  to  Slickville,  I  used  to  be  a  gunnin'  for  everlastinly 
amost  in  our  hickory  woods,  a  shootin'  of  squirrels  with  a  rifle,  and 
I  got  amazin'  expart  at  it.  I  could  take  the  head  off  of  them  chat- 
terin'  little  imps,  when  I  got  a  fair  shot  at  'em  with  a  ball,  at  any 
reasonable  distance  a'most,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten. 

"  Well,  one  day  I  was  out  as  usual,  and  our  Irish  help.  Faddy 
Burke,  was  along  with  me,  and  every  time  he  see'd  me  a  drawin* 
of  the  bead  fine  on  'em,  he  used  to  say,  '  Well,  you've  an  excellent 
gun  entirely.  Master  Sam.  Oh  by  Jakers  1  the  squirrel  has  no 
chance  with  that  gun — it's  an  excellent  one  entirely.* 

"  At  last  I  got  tired  a  hearin'  of  him  a  jawin'  so  for  ever  and  a 
day  about  the  excellent  gun  entirely ;  so,  sais  I,  *  You  fool  you,  do 
you  think  it's  the  gun  that  does  it  entirely,  as  you  say ;  ain't  there 
a  little  dust  of  skill  in  it  ?  Do  you  think  you  could  fetch  one 
down?* 

"  *  Oh,  it's  a  capital  gun  entirely,*  said  he. 

"  *  Well,'  said  I,  *  if  it  'tis,  try  it  now,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  fist 
you'll  make  of  it.' 

"  So  Paddy  takes  the  rifle,  lookin*  as  knowin*  all  the  time  as  if  he 
had  ever  seed  one  afore.  Well,  there  was  a  great  red  squirrel  on 
the  tip-top  of  a  limb,  chatterin*  away  like  anything,  chee,  chee,  chee, 
proper  frightened ;  he  know*d  it  wam't  me,  that  was  a  parsecutin* 
of  him,  and  he  expected  he'd  be  hurt.  They  know'd  me,  did  the 
little  critters,  when  they  seed  me,  and  they  know'd  I  never  had  hurt 
one  on  *em,  my  balls  never  givin'  'em  a  chance  to  feel  what  was  the 
matter  of  them ;  but  Pat  they  didn't  know,  and  they  see'd  he  wam't 
the  man  to  handle  *  Old  Bull-Dog.'  I  used  to  call  my  rifle  Bull- 
Dog,  'cause  she  always  bit  afore  she  barked. 

"■  Pat  threw  one  foot  out  astam,  like  a  skuUin*  oar,  and  then  bent 
forrards  like  a  hoop,  and  fetched  the  rifle  slowly  up  to  the  line,  and 
shot  to  the  right  eye.  Ghee,  chee,  chee,  went  the  squirrel.  He 
see'd  it  was  wrong.  *  By  the  powers !'  sais  Pat, '  this  is  a  left-hand- 
ed boot,*  and  he  brought  the  gun  to  the  other  shoulder,  and  then 


II  "^JiWWI 


r 
11 


'II 


TH^  ATTACHi;;   OR, 


shot  to  his  left  eye.  '  Fegs !'  sais  Pat,  *  thia  gun  was  made  for  a 
squint  eye,  for  I  can't  get  a  right  strait  sight  of  the  critter,  either 
Bide.'  So  I  fixt  it  for  him  and  told  him  which  eye  to  sight  by. 
*  An  excellent  gun  entirely,'  says  Pat,  *  but  it  tante  made  like  the 
rifles  we  have.* 

"Ain't  they  strange  critters,  the  in  Irish,  Squire?  That  feller 
never  handled  a  rifle  afore  in  all  liis  bom  days;  but  unless  it  was 
to  a  priest,  he  wouldn't  confess  that  much  for  the  world.  They  are 
as  bad  as  the  English  that  way ;  they  always  pretend  they  know 
everything. 

"  *  Come,  Pat,*  sais  I,  *  blaze  away  now.*  Back  goes  the  hind 
leg  agin,  up  bends  the  back,  and  Bull-Dog  rises  slowly  to  his 
shoulder ;  and  then  he  stared,  and  stared,  until  his  arm  shook  like 
palsy.  Ghee,  chee,  chee,  went  the  squirrel  agin,  louder  than  ever^ 
as  much  as  to  say, '  Why  the  plague  don't  you  fire  ?  I'm  not  a  goin* 
to  stand  here  all  day  for  you  this  way ;'  and  then  throwin'  his  tail 
over  his  back,  he  jumped  on  to  the  next  branch. 

" '  By  the  piper  that  played  before  Moses  I'  sais  Pat,  *  I'll  stop 
your  chee,  chee,  cheein'  for  you,  you  chatterin'  spalpeen  of  a  devil, 
you.*  So  he  ups  with  the  rifle  agin,  takes  a  fair  aim  at  him,  shuts 
both  eyes,  turns  his  head  round,  and  fires ;  and  Bull-Dog,  findin'  he 
didn't  know  how  to  hold  her  tight  to  the  shoulder,  got  mad,  and 
kicked  him  head  over  heels  on  the  broad  of  his  back.  Pat  got  up, 
a  makin'  awful  wry  faces,  and  began  to  limp,  to  show  how  lame  his 
shoulder  was,  and  to  rub  his  arm,  to  see  if  he  had  one  left,  and  the 
squirrel  ran  about  the  tree  hoppin'  mad,  hollerin'  out  as  loud  as  it 
could  scream,  chee,  chee,  chee. 

"  '  Oh  bad  luck  to  you,'  sais  Pat,  *  if  you  had  a  been  at  t'other 
eend  of  the  gun,'  and  he  rubbed  his  shoulder  agin,  and  cried  like 
a  baby,  'you  wouldn't  have  said  chee,  chee,  chee,  that  way,  I 
know.' 

"  Now  when  your  gun.  Squire,  was  a  knockin'  over  Blue-nose, 
and  makin'  a  proper  fool  of  him,  and  a  knockin'  over  Jonathan,  and 
a  spilin'  of  his  bran-new  clothes,  the  English  sung  out  chee,  chee, 
chee,  till  all  was  blue  agin.  You  had  an  excellent  gun  entirely 
I  then :  let's  see  if  they  will  sing  out  chee,  chee,  chee,  now,  when  we 
take  a  shot  at  them.  Do  you  take  ?"  and  he  laid  his  thumb  on  his 
nose,  as  if  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  application  of  his  story.  "  Do 
you  take,  Squire  ?  You  have  an  excellent  gun  entirely,  as  Pat 
says.  It's  what  I  call  puttin'  the  leake  into  *em  properly.  If  you 
had  a  written  this  book  fust,  the  English  would  have  said  your  gun 
was  no  good ;  it  wouldn't  have  been  like  the  rifles  they  had  seen. 
Lord,  I  could  tell  you  stories  about  the  English,  that  would  make 
even  them  cryin'  devils  the  Mississippi  crocodiles  laugh,  if  they  was 
to  hear  *em.** 


SAM  SLICK  nt  ENGLAND. 


87 


"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Slick,"  I  said,  **  this  is  not  the  temper  with 
which  you  should  visit  England." 

"  What  is  the  temper,"  he  replied,  with  much  warmth,  "  that 
they  visit  us  in  ?  Cuss  'em  !  Look  at  Dickens  ;  was  there  ever  a 
man  made  so  much  of,  except  La  Fayette?  And  who  was  Dickens? 
Not  a  Frenchman,  that  is  a  friend  to  us  ;  not  a  nattW,  that  has  a 
claim  on  us  ;  not  a  colonist,  who,  though  English  by  name,  is  still 
an  American  by  birth,  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  t'other,  and 
therefore  a  kind  of  half-breed  brother.  Ko  !  he  was  a  cussed 
Britisher ;  and  what  is  wus,  a  British  author ;  and  yet,  because  he 
was  a  man  of  genius,  because  genius  has  the  'tamal  globe  for  its 
theme,  and  the  world  for  its  home,  and  mankind  for  its  readers,  and 
bean't  a  citizen  of  this  state  or  that  state,  but  a  native  of  the 
univarse,  why  we  welcomed  him,  and  feasted  him,  and  leveed  him, 
and  escorted  him,  and  cheered  him,  and  honored  him ;  did  he 
honor  us  ?  What  did  he  say  of  us  when  he  returned  ?  Read  his 
book.  •    >• 

"  No,  don't  read  his  book,  for  it  tante  worth  readin'.  Has  he  said 
one  word  of  all  that  reception  in  his  book  ?  that  book  that  will  be 
read,  translated,  and  read  again  all  over  Europe — has  he  said  one 
word  of  that  reception  ?  Answer  me  that,  will  you  ?  Darned  the 
word — his  memory  was  bad ;  he  lost  it  over  the  tafrail  when  he  was 
sea-sick.  But  his  note-book  was  safe  under  lock  and  key,  and  the 
pigs  in  New  York,  and  the  chap  the  rats  eat  in  jail,  and  the  rough 
man  from  Kentucky,  and  the  entire  rafl  of  galls  emprisoned  in  one 
night,  and  the  spittin'  boxes  and  all  that  stuff,  warn't  trusted  to 
memory — it  was  noted  down  and  printed. 

"  But  it  tante  no  matter.  Let  any  man  give  me  any  sarce  in 
England,  about  my  country,  or  not  give  me  the  right  /position  in 
society,  as  Attache  to  our  Legation,  and,  as  Cooper  says,  I'll  be- 
come belligerent,  too,  I  will,  I  snore.  I  can  snuff  a  candle  with  a 
pistol  as  fast  as  you  can  light  it.  Hang  up  an  orange,  and  I'll  first 
peel  it  with  ball  and  then  quarter  it.  Heavens !  I'll  let  daylight 
down  through  some  o'  their  jackets,  I  know. 

"  Jube,  you  infamal  black  scoundrel,  you  odoriferous  nigger  you, 
what's  that  you've  got  there  ?" 

"  An  apple,  massa." 

"  Take  off  your  cap  and  put  that  apple  on  your  head,  then  stand 
sideways  by  that  port-hole,  and  hold  steady,  or  you  might  stand  a 
smart  chance  to  have  your  wool  carded,  that's  all." 

Then  taking  a  pistol  out  of  the  side-pocket  of  his  mackintosh,  he 
deliberately  walked  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  deck,  and  exam- 
ined his  priming. 

"  Good  heavens,  Mr.  Slick !"  said  I  in  great  alarm,  "  what  are 
you  about  ?" 

'^  I  am  goin',"  he  said  with  the  greatest  coolness,  but  at  the  same 


HWI||lki|i 


'fy^r^-mrw^^vr' 


1 


68 


THB  ATTAOHi;  OB, 


time  with  equal  sternness,  "to  bore  a  hole  through  that  apple, 
Sir." 

**  For  shame,  Sir  I"  I  said.  "  How  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing  ?  Suppose  you  were  to  miss  your  shot,  and  kill  that  unfortu- 
nate boy?" 

**  I  won't  suppose  no  such  thing,  Sir.  I  can't  miss  it.  I  couldn't 
miss  it  if  I  was  to  try.  Hold  your  head  steady,  Jube — and  if  I  did, 
it's  no  great  matter.  The  oncarcumcised  Amalikite  ain't  worth  over 
three  hundred  dollars  at  the  fardest,  that's  a  fact ;  and  the  way  he'd 
pyson  a  shark  ain't  no  matter.    Are  you  ready,  Jube  ?" 

"  Yes,  massa." 

"  You  shall  do  no  such  thing,  Sir,"  I  said,  seizing  his  arm  with 
both  my  hands.  "  If  you  attempt  to  shoot  at  that  apple,  I  shall  hold 
no  further  intercourse  with  vou.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self. Sir." 

^  Ky !  massa,"  said  Jube,  *'  let  him  fire,  Sar :  he  no  hurt  Jube ; 
he  no  foozle  de  hair.  I  isn't  one  mossel  afeerd.  He  often  do  it, 
jist  to  keep  him  hand  in,  Sar.  Massa  most  a  grand  shot,  Sar.  He 
take  off  de  ear  ob  de  squirrel  so  slick,  he  neber  miss  it,  till  he  go 
scratchin'  his  head.     Let  him  appel  hab  it,  massa." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  he  is  a  Christian  is  Jube — he  is  as 
good  as  a  white  Britisher :  same  flesh,  only  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle 
darker ;  same  blood,  only  not  quite  so  old,  ain't  quite  so  much  tarter 
on  tlie  bottle  as  a  lord's  has;  oh,  him  and  a  Britisher  is  all  one  bro- 
ther—oh, by  all  means— 

Him  fader's  hope — him  mudder's  joy, 
Him  darlin  little  nigger  boy. 

You'd  better  cry  over  him,  hadn't  you  ?  Buss  him,  call  him  brother, 
hUg  him,  give  him  the  '  Abolition'  kiss,  write  an  article  on  slavery, 
like  Dickens;  marry  him  to  a  white  gall 'to  England,  get  him  a 
saint's  darter  with  a  good  fortin,  and  we'll  soon  see  whether  her 
father  was  a  taUcin'  cant  or  no,  about  niggers.  Cuss  'em,  let  any  o' 
these  Britishers  give  me  slack,  and  I'll  give  *em  cranberry  for  their 
goose,  I  know.  I'd  jump  right  down  their  throat  with  spurs  on, 
and  gallop  their  sarce  out." 

"  Mr.  Slick,  I've  done ;  I  shall  say  no  more ;  we  part,  and  part 
for  ever.  I  had  no  idea  whatever,  that  a  man,  whose  whole  con- 
duct has  evinced  a  kind  heart,  and  cheerful  disposition,  could  have 
entertained  such  a  revengeful  spirit,  or  given  utterance  to  such  un- 
christian and  uncharitable  language,  as  you  have  used  to-day.  We 
part—" 

"No,  we  don't,"  said  he;  "don't  kick  afore  you  are  spurred. 
I  guess  I  have  feelins  as  well  as  other  folks  have,  that's  a  fact ;  one 
can't  help  being  ryled  to  hear  foreigners  talk  this  way ;  and  these 
critters  are  enough  to  make  a  man  spotty  on  the  bade.    I  won't 


SAM  8LI0K  IN  SHOLAKD. 


8d 


deny  IVe  got  some  grit,  but  I  ain't  ugly.  Fnt  me  on  the  back  and 
I  soon  cool  down,  drop  in  a  soft  word  and  f.  ivon't  bile  over ;  but 
don't  talk  big,  don't  threaten,  or  I  curl  directly." 

"Mr.  Slick,"  said  I,  "neither  my  countrjrmen,  the  Nova  Sco- 
tians,  nor  your  friends  the  Americans,  took  anything  amiss,  in  our 
previous  remarks,  because,  though  satirical,  they  were  good-natured. 
There  was  nothing  malicious  in  them.  They  were  not  made  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  showing  them  up,  but  were  incidental  to  the 
topic  we  were  discussing,  and  their  whole  tenor  showed  that  while 
we  were  alive  to  the  ludicrous,  we  fully  appreciated,  and  properly 
valued  their  many  excellent  and  sterling  qualities.  My  country- 
men, for  whose  good  I  published  them,  had  the  most  reason  to  com- 
plain, for  I  took  the  liberty  to  apply  ridicule  to  them  with  no  sparing 
hand.  They  urrderstood  the  motive,  and  joined  in  the  laugh,  which 
was  raised  at  their  expense.  Let  us  treat  the  English  in  the  same 
style ;  let  us  keep  our  temper.  John  Bull  is  a  good-natured  fellow, 
and  has  no  objection  to  a  joke,  provided  it  is  not  made  the  vehicle 
of  conveying  an  insult.  Don't  adopt  Cooper's  maxims ;  nobody 
approves  of  them,  on  either  side  of  the  water ;  don't  be  too  thin- 
skinned.  K  the  English  have  been  amused  by  the  sketches  their 
tourists  have  drawn  of  the  Yankees,  perhaps  the  Americans  may 
laugh  over  our  sketches  of  the  English.  Let  us  make  both  of  them 
smile,  if  we  can,  and  endeavor  to  offend  neither.  If  Dickens  omit- 
ted to  mention  the  festivals  that  were  given  in  honor  of  his  arrival 
in  the  States,  he  was  doubtless  actuated  by  a  desire  to  avoid  the 
appearance  of  personal  vanity.  A  man  cannot  well  make  himself 
the  hero  of  hb  own  book.** 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  the  black  ox  did  tread  on  my 
toe  that  time.  I  don't  know  but  what  you're  right.  Soft  words  are 
good  enough  in  their  way,  but  still  they  butter  no  parsnips,  as  the 
sayin'  is.  John  may  be  a  good-natured  critter,  tho'  I  never  see'd 
any  of  it  yet ;  and  he  may  be  fond  of  a  joke,  and  p'rhaps  is,  seeln' 
that  he  haw-haws  considerable  loud  at  his  own.  Let's  try  him,  at 
all  events.  We'll  soon  see  how  he  likes  other  folks'  jokes ;  I  have 
my  scruple  about  him.  I  must  say  J  am  dubersome  whether  he 
will  say  *chee,  chee,  chee,'  when  he  gets  't'other  eend  of  the 
gun.'" 


^«fag||iP^fqpiPPnm«^npV<Rn^l^«wKmii'ftWP  «  m 


"rr^ 


m 


THE  ATTACH]^;  OB, 


CHAPTER   VI. 
SMALL    POTATOES,    AND    FEW    IN    A    HILL. 

"  Prat,  Sir,"  said  one  of  my  fellow-passengers,  "  cf.n  you  tell  me 
why  the  Nova  Scotians  are  called  *  Blue-noses  ?* " 

"  It  is  the  name  of  u  potato,"  said  I,  "  which  they  produce  in 
great  perfection,  and  boast  to  be  the  best  in  the  world.  The 
Americans  have,  in  consequence,  given  them  the  nick-name  of 
*  Blue-noses.*" 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  as  you  have  told  the  entire  stran- 
ger, who  the  Blue-nose  is,  I'll  jist  up  and  tell  him  what  he  is. 

"  One  day.  Stranger,  I  was  a  joggin'  along  into  Windsor  on  Old 
Clay,  on  a  sort  of  butter  and  eggs'  gait  (for  a  fast  walk  on  a  jour- 
ney tires  a  horse  considerable),  and  who  should  I  see  a  settin 
straddle  legs  on  the  fence,  but  Squire  Gabriel  Soogit,  with  his  coat 
off,  a  holdin'  of  a  hoe  in  one  hand,  and  his  hat  in  t'other,  and  a 
blowin'  like  a  porpus  proper  tired. 

« t  ■\iviiy^  Squire  Gabe,*  sais  I,  *  what  is  the  matter  of  you  ?  You 
look  as  if  you  couldn't  help  yourself.  Who  is  dead  and  what  is  to 
pay  now,  eh  ?* 

"  '  Fairly  beat  out,*  said  he.  *  I  am  shockin*  tired.  I've  been 
hard  at  work  all  the  mornm' ;  a  body  has  to  stir  about  considerable 
smart  in  this  country,  to  make  n  livin',  I  tell  you.* 

"  I  looked  over  the  fence,  and  I  seed  he  had  hoed  jist  ten  hills 
of  potatoes,  and  that's  all.     Fact,  I  assure  you. 

"  Sais  he,  '  Mr.  Slick,  tell  you  what,  of  all  the  work  I  ever  did  in 
my  life,  I  like  hoeirC  potatoes  the  best,  and  I'd  rather  die  than  do  that, 
it  makes  my  back  ache  so.* 

" '  Good  airth  and  seas,'  sais  I  to  myself,  *  what  a  parfect  pictur 
of  a  lazy  man  that  is  !     How  far  is  it  to  Windsor  ?' 

" '  Three  miles,'  sais  he.  I  took  out  my  pocket-book,  purtendin' 
to  write  down  the  distance,  but  I  booked  his  sayin*  in  my  way-bill. 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  Blue-nose  ;  is  it  any  wonder,  Stranger,  he  is  smaU 
potatoes,  and  few  in  a  hillT* 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


m 


CHAPTER    VII. 


A    GENTLEMAN    AT    LARGE. 


It  is  not  my  intention  to  record  any  of  the  ordinary  incidents  of 
a  sea-voyage :  the  subject  is  too  hackneyed  and  too  trite ;  and  be- 
sides, when  the  topic  is  sea-sickness,  it  is  infectious,  and  the  descrip- 
tion nauseates.  Hominem  pagina  nostra  sapit.  The  proper  study 
of  mankind  is  man ;  human  nature  is  what  I  delight  in  contem- 
plating !  I  love  to  trace  out  and  delineate  the  springs  of  human 
action. 

Mr.  Slick  and  Mr.  Hopewell  are  both  studies.  The  former  is  a 
perfect  master  of  certain  chords ;  he  has  practised  upon  them,  not 
for  philosophical,  but  for  mercenary  purposes.  He  knows  the 
depth,  and  strength,  and  tone  of  vanity,  curiosity,  pride,  envy, 
avarice,  superstition,  nationality,  and  'ocal  and  general  prejudice. 
He  has  learned  the  effect  of  these,  not  because  they  contribute  to 
make  him  wiser,  but  because  they  make  him  richer ;  not  to  enable 
him  to  regulate  his  conduct  in  life,  but  to  promote  and  secure  the 
increase  of  his  tra'^e. 

Mr.  Hopewell,  on  the  contrary,  has  studied  the  human  heart  as  a 
philanthropist,  as  a  man  whose  business  it  was  to  minister  to  it,  to 
cultivate  and  improve  it.  His  views  are  more  sound  and  more 
comprehensive  than  those  of  the  other's,  and  his  objects  are  more 
noble.     They  are  both  extraordinary  men. 

They  differed,  however,  materially  in  their  opinion  of  England 
and  its  instittitions.  Mr.  Slick  evidently  viewed  them  with  preju- 
dice. Whether  this  arose  from  the  supercilious  manner  of  English 
tourists  in  America,  or  from  the  ridicule  they  have  thrown  upon 
Bepublican  society,  in  the  books  of  travels  they  have  published, 
after  their  return  to  Europe,  I  could  not  discover ;  but  it  soon  be- 
came manifest  to  me,  that  Great  Britain  did  not  stand  so  high  in 
his  estimation  as  the  colonies  did. 

Mr.  Hopewell,  on  the  contrary,  from  early  associations,  cherished 
a  feeling  of  regard  and  respect  for  England ;  and  when  his  opinion 
was  asked,  he  always  gave  it  with  great  frankness  and  impartiality. 
When  there  was  anything  he  could  not  approve  of,  it  appeared  to 
be  a  subject  of  regret  to  him ;  whereas,  the  other  seized  upon  it 
at  once  as  a  matter  of  great  exultation.  The  first  sight  we  had  of 
land  naturally  called  out  their  respective  opinions. 


THE  ATTACHi:;   OR, 


As  we  were  pacing  the  deck,  speculating  upon  the  probable  ter- 
mination of  our  voyage,  Cape  Clear  was  descried  by  the  look-out 
on  the  mast-head. 

"  Hallo !  what's  that  ?  Why,  if  it  ain't  land  ahead,  as  I'm 
alive !"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  Well,  come,  this  is  pleasant,  too ;  we 
have  made  amust  an  everlastin'  short  voyage  of  it,  hante  we  ?  And 
I  must  say  I  like  land  quite  as  well  as  sea,  in  a  ginirai  way,  arter 
all ;  but.  Squire,  here  is  the  first  Britisher.  That  critter  that's  a 
clawin'  up  the  side  of  the  vessel  like  a  cat  is  the  pilot :  now  do,  for 
goodness  gracious  sake,  jist  look  at  him,  and  hear  him." 

«  What  port  ?" 

"  Liverpool." 

"  Keep  her  up  a  point." 

"  Do  you  hear  that.  Squire  ?  That's  English,  or  what  we  used 
to  call  to  singing  school  short  metre.  The  critter  don't  say  a  word, 
even  as  much  as  *  by  your  leave ;'  but  jist  goes  and  takes  his  post, 
and  don't  ask  the  name  of  the  vessel,  or  pass  the  time  o'  day  with 
the  Captain.  That  ain't  in  the  bill — it  tante  paid  for,  that ;  if  it 
was,  he'd  off  cap,  touch  the  deck  three  times  with  his  forehead,  and 
*  Slam'  like  a  Turk  to  his  Honor  the  Skipper. 

"There's  plenty  of  civility  here  to  England  if  you  pay  for  it: 
jou  can  buy  as  much  in  five  minits  as  will  make  you  sick  for  a 
week ;  but  if  you  don't  pay  for  it,  you  not  only  won't  get  it,  but 
you  get  sarce  instead  of  it,  that  is,  if  you  are  fool  enough  to  stand 
and  have  it  rubbed  in.  They  are  as  cold  as  Presbyterian  charity, 
and  mean  enough  to  put  the  sun  in  eclipse,  are  the  English.  They 
hante  set  up  the  brazen  image  here  to  worship,  but  they've  got  a 
gold  one,  and  that  they  do  adore,  and  no  mistake ;  it's  all  pay,  pay, 
pay ;  parquisite,  parquisite,  parquisite ;  extortion,  extortion,  extor- 
tion. There  is  a  whole  pack  of  yelpin'  devils  to  your  heels  here> 
for  everlastinly  a  cringin',  fawnin',  And  coaxin',  or  snarlin',  grum- 
blin*,  or  bullyin'  you  out  of  your  money.  There's  the  boatman, 
and  tide-waiter,  and  porter,  and  custom-er,  and  truck-man,  as  soon 
as  you  land ;  and  the  sarvant-man,  and  chamber-gall,  and  boots, 
and  porter  again,  to  the  inn.  And  then  on  the  road,  there  is  trunk- 
lifter,  and  coachman,  and  guard,  and  beggar-man,  and  a  critter  that 
opens  the  coach  door,  that  they  calls  a  waterman,  cause  he  is  infar- 
nal  dirty,  and  never  sees  water.  They  are  jist  like  a  snarl  o*  snakes, 
their  name  is  legion,  and  there  ain't  no  eend  to  'em. 

"  The  only  thing  you  get  for  nothin'  here  is  rain  and  smoke,  the 
xumatiz,  and  scorny  airs.  If  you  would  buy  an  Englishman  at 
what  he  was  worth,  and  sell  him  at  his  own  valiation,  he  would 
realize  as  much  as  a  nigger,  and  would  be  worth  tradin'  in,  that's  a 
fact;  but  as  it  is,  he  ain't  worth  nothin' — there  is  no  market  for  such 
■critters — no  one  would  buy  him  at  no  price.  A  Scotchman  is  wus, 
for  he  is  prouder  and  meaner.    Fat  ain't  no  better  nother ;  he  ain't 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


a 


proud,  cause  he  has  a  hole  in  His  breeches  and  another  in  his  elbow, 
and  he  thinks  pride  won't  patch  'em ;  and  he  ain't  mean,  cause  he 
hante  got  nothin'  to  be  mean  with.  Whether  it  takes  nine  tailors  to 
make  a  man,  I  can't  jist  exactly  say ;  but  this  I  will  say,  and  take 
my  davy  of  it,  too,  that  it  would  take  three  such  goneys  as  these  to 
make  a  pattern  for  one  of  our  rael  genuwine  free  and  enlightened 
citizens,  and  then  I  wouldn't  swap  without  large  boot,  I  tell  you. 
Guess  I'll  go,  and  pack  up  my  fixins,  and  have  'em  ready  to 
land." 

He  now  went  below,  leaving  Mr.  Hopewell  and  myself  on  the 
deck.  All  this  tirade  of  Mr.  Slick  was  uttered  in  the  hearing  of 
the  pilot,  and  intended  rather  for  his  conciliation,  than  my  instruc- 
tion. The  pilot  was  immovable ;  he  let  the  cause  against  his  coun- 
try go  "  by  default,"  and  left  us  to  our  process  of  "  inquiry ;"  but 
when  Mr.  Slick  was  in  the  act  of  descending  to  the  cabin,  he  turned 
and  gave  him  a  look  of  admeasurement,  very  similar  to  that  which 
a  grazier  gives  an  ox — a  look  which  estimates  the  weight  and  value 
of  the  animal ;  and  I  am  bound  to  admit,  that  the  result  of  that 
'' sizing  or  laying,"  as  it  is  technically  called,  was  by  no  means 
favorable  to  the  Attache. 

Mr.  Hopewell  had  evidently  not  attended  to  it;  his  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  bold  and  precipitous  shore  of  Wales,  and  the  lofty 
summits  of  the  everlasting  hills,  that  in  the  distance,  aspired  to  a 
companionship  with  the  clouds.  I  took  my  seat  at  a  little  distance 
from  him,  and  surveyed  the  scene  with  mingled  feeUngs  of  curiosity 
and  admiration,  until  a  thick  volume  of  sulphureous  smoke  from  the 
copper  furnaces  of  Anglesey  intercepted  our  view. 

^  Squire,"  said  he,  '*  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  contemplate  this 
country,  that  t-"'"  lies  before  us,  without  strong  emotion.  It  is  our 
fatherland.  I  recollect  when  I  was  a  colonist,  as  you  are,  we  were 
in  the  habit  of  applying  to  it,  in  common  with  Englishmen,  that 
endearing  appellation,  '  Home,'  and  I  believe  you  stUl  continue  to 
do  so  in  the  provinces.  Our  nursery  tales  taught  our  infant  lips  to 
lisp  in  English,  and  the  ballads,  that  first  exercised  onr  memories, 
stored  the  mind  with  the  traditions  of  our  forefathers  ;  their  litera- 
ture was  our  literature,  their  religion  our  religion,  their  history  our 
history.  The  battle  of  Hastings,  the  murder  of  Becket,  the  signa- 
ture of  Bimymede,  the  execution  at  Whitehall ;  the  divines,  the 
poets,  the  orators,  the  heroes,  the  martyrs,  each  and  all  were  familiar 
to  us. 

"  In  approaching  this  country  now,  after  a  lapse  of  many,  many 
years,  and  approaching  it  too  for  the  last  time,  tor  mine  eyes  shall 
see  it  no  more,  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  feelings  that  agitate  my 
heart.  I  go  to  visit  the  tombs  of  my  ancestors  ;  I  go  to  my  home, 
and  my  home  kuoweth  me  no  more.     Great  and  good,  and  brave 


ll»  UPM  PfPilHJPMUHiii^Pili   iiHIWqwiV^pWIMff^ 


44 


THE  ATTACH^;  OB, 


and  free  are  the  English ;  and  may  God  grant  that  they  may  ever 
continue  so !" 

"  I  cordially  join  in  that  prayer,  Sir,"  said  I.  "  You  have  a 
country  of  your  own.  The  old  colonies  having  ripened  into  matu- 
rity, formed  a  distinct  and  separate  family,  in  the  great  community 
of  mankind.  You  are  now  a  nation  of  yourselves,  and  your  attach- 
ment to  England  is  of  course  subordinate  to  that  of  your  own  coun- 
try ;  you  view  it  as  a  place  that  was  in  days  of  yore  the  home  of 
your  forefathers  ;  we  regard  it  as  the  paternal  estate,  continuing  to 
call  it  '  Home,*  as  you  have  just  now  observed.  We  owe  it  a  debt 
of  gratitude  that  not  only  cannot  be  repaid,  but  is  too  great  for  ex- 
pression. Their  armies  protect  us  within,  and  their  fleets  defend  us, 
and  our  commerce  without.  Their  government  is  not  only  paternal 
and  indulgent,  but  is  wholly  gratuitous.  We  neither  pay  these 
forces,  nor  feed  them,  nor  clothe  them.  We  not  only  raise  no 
taxes,  but  are  not  expected  to  do  so.  The  blessings  of  true  religion 
are  diffused  among  us,  by  the  pious  liberality  of  England,  and  ,a 
collegiate  establishment  at  Windsor,  supported  by  British  funds, 
has  for  years  supplied  the  Church,  the  Bar,  and  the  Legislature 
with  scholars  and  gentlemen.  Where  national  assistance  has  failed, 
private  contribution  has  volunteered  its  aid,  and  means  are  never 
wanting  for  any  useful  or  beneficial  object. 

"  Our  condition  is  a  most  enviable  one.  The  history  of  the 
world  has  no  example  to  offer  of  such  noble  disinterestedness  and 
such  liberal  '•lie,  as  that  exhibited  by  Great  Britain  to  her  colonies. 
If  the  polic^  of  the  Colonial  Office  is  not  always  good  (which  I  fear 
is  too  much  to  say),  it  is  ever  liberal ;  and  if  we  do  not  mutually 
derive  all  the  benefit  we  might  from  the  connection,  we,  at  least, 
reap  more  solid  advantages  than  we  have  a  right  to  expect,  and 
more,  I  am  afraid,  than  our  conduct  always  deserves.  I  hope  the 
Secretary  of  the  Colonies  may  have  the  advantage  of  making  your 
acquaintance.  Sir.  Your  experience  is  so  great,  you  might  give 
him  a  vast  deal  of  useful  information,  which  he  could  obtain  from 
no  one  else." 

"  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  who  had  just  mounted  the  compan- 
ion-ladder, "  will  your  honor,"  touching  his  hat,  "  jist  look  at  your 
honor's  plunder,  and  see  it's  all  right ;  remember  me.  Sir ;  thank 
your  honor.  This  way.  Sir ;  let  me  help  your  honor  down.  Re- 
member me  again.  Sir.  Thank  your  honor.  Now  you  may  go 
and  break  your  neck,  your  honor,  as  soon  as  you  please ;  for  I've 
got  all  out  of  you  I  can  squeeze,  that's  a  fact.  That's  English, 
Squire — ^that's  English  servility,  which  they  call  civility,  and  Eng- 
lish meanness  and  beggin',  which  they  call  parquisite.  Who  was 
that  you  wanted  to  see  the  Minister,  that  I  heerd  you  a  talkin'  of 
when  I  come  on  deck  ?" 

"  The  Secretary  of  the  Colonies,"  I  said. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


45 


fear 
tually 
east, 
and 
the 
your 
give 
from 

ipan- 
your 
lank 
Be- 

go 
I've 
;lish, 
Ing- 
was 
I'of 


"  Oh,  for  goodness  sake,  don't  send  that  crittur  to  him,"  said  he, 
"  or  Minister  will  have  to  pay  him  for  his  visit,  more,  p'rhaps,  than 
he  can  afford.  John  Russell,  that  had  the  ribbons  afore  him,  ap- 
pointed a  settler  as  a  member  of  Legislative  Council  to  Prince 
Edward's  Island,  a  berth  that  has  no  pay,  that  takes  a  feller  three 
months  a  year  from  home,  and  has  a  horrid  sight  to  do  ;  and  what 
do  you  think  he  did  ?  Now  jist  guess.  You  give  it  up,  do  you  ? 
Well,  you  may  as  well,  for  if  you  was  five  Yankees  biled  down  to 
one,  you  wouldn't  guess  it.  '  Remember  Secretary's  clerk,*  says 
he,  a  touchin'  of  his  hat,  '  give  him  a  little  tip  of  thirty  pound  ster- 
ling, your  honor.'  Well,  colonist  had  a  drop  of  Yankee  blood  in 
him,  which  was  about  one-third  molasses,  and,  of  course,  one-third 
more  of  a  man  than  they  commonly  is,  and  so  he  jist  ups  and  says, 
*  I'll  see  you  and  your  clerk  to  Jericho  and  beyond  Jordan  fust. 
The  office  ain't  worth  the  fee.  Take  it  and  sell  it  to  some  one  else 
that  has  more  money  nor  wit.'     He  did,  upon  my  soul. 

"  No,  don't  send  State-Secretary  to  Minister,  send  him  to  me  at 
eleven  o'clock  to-night,  for  I  shall  be  the  top-loftiest  feller  above 
that  time  you've  seen  this  while  past,  I  tell  you.  Stop  till  I  touch 
land  once  more,  that's  all ;  the  way  I'll  stretch  my  legs  ain't  no 
matter." 

He  then  uttered  the  negro  ejaculation,  "  Chah ! — chah  I"  and 
putting  his  arms  a-kimbo,  danced  in  a  most  extraordinary  style  to 
the  music  of  a  song,  which  he  gave  with  great  expression : 

*'  Oh  hab  you  neber  heerd  ob  de  battle  ob  Orleans, 
"Where  de  dandy  Yankee  lads  gave  de  Britishers  de  beans  1 
Oh  de  Louisiana  boys,  dey  did  it  pretty  slick, 
When  dey  cotch  ole  Packenham  and  rode  him  up  a  creek. 
Wee  my  zippy  dooden  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey, 
Wee  my  zippy  dooden  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey. 

"  Oh  yes,  send  Secretary  to  me  at  eleven  or  twelve  to-night — 
I'll  be  in  tune  then,  jist  about  up  to  consart  pitch.  I'll  smoke  with 
him,  or  drink  with  him,  or  swap  stories  with  him,  or  wrastle  with 
him,  or  make  a  fool  of  him,  or  lick  him,  or  anything  he  likes  ;  and 
when  I've  done,  I'll  rise  up,  tweak  the  fore-top-knot  of  my  head  by 
the  nose,  bow  pretty,  and  say,  'Remember  me,  your  honor?  Don't 
forget  the  tip?'  Lord,  how  I  long  to  walk  into  some  o'  these  chaps, 
and  give  'em  the  beans  !  and  I  will  afore  I'm  many  days  older,  hang 
me  if  I  don't.  I  shall  bust,  I  do  expect ;  and  if  I  do,  them  that 
ain't  drownded  will  be  scalded,  I  know.     Chah !— thah  1 

"  Oh  de  British  name  is  Bull,  and  de  French  name  is  Frog, 
And  noisy  critters  too,  when  a  braggin'  on  a  log, — 
But  I  is  an  alligator,  a  floatin'  down  stream, 
And  I'll  chaw  both  the  bullies  up,  as  I  would  an  ice-cream : 
Wee  my  zippy  dooden  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey. 
Wee  my  zippy  dooden  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey. 


46 


THE  attachA;  or, 


I 


"  Yes,  Tve  been  pent  up  in  that  drawer-like  lookin'  berth,  till 
I've  growed  like  a  pine-tree  with  its  branches  oflf — straight  up  and 
down.  My  legs  is  like  a  pair  o'  compasses  that's  got  wet ;  tliey 
are  rusty  on  the  hinges,  and  won't  work.  I'll  play  leap-frog  up  the 
street,  over  every  feller's  head,  till  I  get  to  the  Liner's  Hotel ;  I 
hope  I  may  be  shot  if  I  don't.  Jube,  you  villain,  stand  still  there 
on  the  deck,  and  hold  stiff,  you  nigger.  Warny  once — ^wamy  twice — 
wamy  three  times ;  now  I  come." 

And  he  ran  forward,  and  putting  a  hand  on  each  shoulder,  jumped 
over  him. 

"  Turn  round  agin,  you  young  sv  ^king  Satan,  you ;  and  don't  give 
one  mite  or  morsel,  or  you  i:;i;  '  break  massa's  precious  i  eck,' 
p'rhaps.    Wamy  once — wainj        •>-  '"amy  three  times." 

And  he  repeated  the  feat  agR"  . 

"  That's  the  way  I'll  shin  it  up  street,  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  a 
jump.  "Won't  I  make  Old  Bull  njsc  whe.'  '*-'^  finds  his  head  under 
my  coat  tails,  and  me  jist  makiu'  a  le.cr  oi  h-m?  He'll  think  he 
has  run  foul  of  a  snag,  /know.  Lord,  I'll  shack  right  over  their 
heads,  as  they  do  over  a  colonist ;  only,  when  they  do,  they  never 
say  warny  wunst — cuss  'em,  they  ain't  civil  enough  for  that.  They 
arn't  paid  for  it — there  is  no  parquisite  to  be  got  by  it.  Won't  I 
tuck  in  the  Champaine  to-night,  that's  all,  till  I  get  the  steam  up 
right,  and  make  the  paddles  work  ?  Won't  I  have  a  lark  of  the 
rael  Kentuck  breed  ?  Won't  I  trip  up  a  policeman's  heels,  thunder 
the  knockers  of  the  street  doors,  and  ring  the  bells  and  leave  no 
card  ?  Won't  I  have  a  shy  at  a  lamp,  and  then  off  hot  foot  to  the 
hotel  ?    Won't  I  say,  *  Waiter,  how  dare  you  do  that  ?' " 

«  What,  Sir  ?" 

"  *  Tread  on  my  foot.' 

« *  I  didn't.  Sir.' 

"  *  You  did,  Sir.  Take  that  ?'  knock  him  down  like  wink,  and 
help  him  up  on  his  feet  agin  with  a  kick  on  his  western  eend. 
Kiss  the  bar-maid,  about  the  quickest  and  wickedest  she  ever  heerd 
tell  of,  and  then  off  to  bed  as  sober  as  a  judge.  '  Chamber-maid, 
bring  a  pan  of  coals  and  air  my  bed.*  *  Yea,  Sir.'  FoUer  close  at 
her  heels,  jist  put  a  hand  on  each  short  rib,  tickle  her  till  she  spills 
the  red  hot  coals  all  over  the  floor,  and  begins  to  cry  over  'em  to 
put  'em  out,  whip  the  candle  out  of  her  hand,  leave  her  to  her 
lamentations,  and  then  off  to  roost  in  no  time.  And  when  I  get 
there,  won't  I  strike  out  all  abroad — take  up  the  room  of  three  men 
with  their  clothes  on — lay  all  over  and  over  the  bed,  and  feel  once 
more  I  am  a  free  man  and  a  '  Gentleman  at  large' " 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


47 


>,)« 

:^m 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SEEING    LIVERPOOL. 

On  looking  back  to  any  given  period  of  our  life,  we  generally 
find  that  the  intervening  time  appears  much  shorter  than  it  really 
is.  We  see  at  once  the  starting-post  and  the  terminus,  and  the 
mind  takes  in  at  one  view  the  entire  space. 

But  this  observation  is  more  peculiarly  applicable  to  a  short  pas- 
sage across  the  Atlantic.  Knowing  how  great  the  distance  is,  and 
accustomed  to  consider  the  voyage  as  the  work  of  many  weeks,  we 
are  so  astonished  at  finding  ourselves  transported  in  a  few  days, 
from  one  continent  to  another,  that  we  can  hardly  credit  the  evi- 
dence of  our  own  senses. 

Who  is  there  that,  on  landing,  has  not  asked  himself  the  ques- 
tion, "  Is  it  possible  that  I  am  in  England  ?  It  seems  but  as  yes- 
terday that  I  was  in  America,  to-day  I  am  in  Europe.  Is  it  a 
dream,  or  a  reality  ?" 

The  river  and  the  docks — the  country  and  the  town — ^the  people 
and  their  accent — the  verdure  and  the  climate  are  all  new  to  me. 
I  have  not  been  prepared  for  this  ;  I  have  not  been  led  on  imper- 
ceptibly, by  travelling  mile  after  mile  by  land  from  my  own  home, 
to  accustom  my  senses  to  the  gradual  change  of  country.  There 
has  been  no  border  to  pass,  where  the  language,  the  dress,  the 
habits,  and  outward  appearances  assimilate.  There  has  been  no 
blending  of  colors — no  dissolving  views  in  the  retrospect — ^no  open- 
ing or  expanding  ones  in  prospect.  I  have  no  difficulty  in  ascer- 
taining the  point  where  one  terminates  and  the  other  begins. 

The  change  is  sudden  and  startling.  The  last  time  I  slept  on 
shore,  was  in  America — to-night  I  sleep  in  England.  The  effect  is 
magical — one  country  is  withdrawn  from  view,  and  another  is  sud- 
denly presented  to  my  astonished  gaze.  I  am  bewildered  ;  I  rouse 
myself,  and  rubbing  my  eyes,  again  ask  whether  I  am  awake  ?  Is 
this  England?  that  great  country,  that  world  of  itself;  Old  Eng- 
land, that  place  I  was  taught  to  call  home  par  excellence^  the  liome 
of  other  homes,  whose  flag  I  called  our  flag  ?  (no,  I  am  wrong,  I 
have  been  accustomed  to  call  our  flag,  the  flag  of  England ;  our 
church,  not  the  Church  of  Nova  Scotia,  nor  the  Colonial,  nor  the 
Episcopal,  nor  the  Established,  but  the  Church  of  England.)    Is  it 


48 


THE  ATTACHfi;   OK, 


then  that  England,  whose  language  I  speak,  whose  subject  I  am,  the 
mistress  of  the  world,  the  country  of  Kings  and  Queens,  and  nobles 
and  prelates,  and  sages  and  heroes  ? 

I  have  read  of  it,  so  have  I  read  of  old  Rome ;  but  the  sight  of 
Rome,  Cajsar,  and  the  Senate,  would  not  astonish  me  more  than  that 
of  London,  the  Queen  and  the  Parliament  Both  are  yet  ideal ;  the 
imagination  ha3  sketched  them,  but  when  were  its  sketches  ever  true 
to  nature?  I  have  a  veneration  for  both,  but,  gentle  reader,  excuse 
the  confessions  of  an  old  man,  for  I  have  a  soft  spot  in  the  heart  yet, 
I  love  old  England.  I  love  its  institutions,  its  literature,  its  people. 
I  love  its  law,  because,  while  it  protects  property,  it  ensures  liberty. 
I  love  its  church,  not  only  because  I  believe  it  is  the  true  church, 
but  because  though  armed  with  power,  it  is  tolerant  in  practice.  I 
love  its  constitution,  because  it  combines  the  stability  of  a  monarchy, 
with  the  most  valuable  peculiarities  of  a  republic,  and  without  viola- 
ting nature  by  attempting  to  make  men  equal,  wisely  follow  its  dic- 
tates, by  securing  freedom  to  all. 

I  like  the  people,  though  not  all  in  the  same  degree.  They  are 
not  what  they  were.  Dissent,  reform  and  agitation  have  altered 
their  character.  It  is  necessary  to  distinguish.  A  real  Englishman 
is  generous,  loyal  and  brave,  manly  in  his  conduct  and  gentlemanly 
in  his  feeling.  When  I  meet  such  a  man  as  this,  I  cannot  but  re- 
spect him ;  but  when  I  find  that  in  addition  to  these  good  qualities, 
he  has  the  further  recommendation  of  being  a  churchman  in  his 
religion  and  a  Tory  in  his  politics,  I  know  then  that  his  heart  is  in 
the  right  place,  and  I  love  him. 

The  drafts  of  these  chapters  were  read  to  Mr.  Slick,  at  his  partic- 
ular request,  that  he  might  be  assured  they  contained  nothing  that 
would  injure  his  election  as  President  of  the  United  States,  in  the 
event  of  the  Slickville  ticket  becoming  hereafter  the  favorite  one. 
This,  he  said,  was  on  the  cards,  strange  as  it  might  seem,  for  making 
a  fool  of  John  Bull  and  turning  the  laugh  on  him,  would  be  sure  to 
take  and  be  popular.  The  last  paragraphs  he  said,  he  afiectioned 
and  approbated  with  all  his  heart. 

" It  is  rather  tall  talkin'  that,"  said  he ;  "I  like  its  patronisin* 
tone.  There  is  sunthin'  goodish  in  a  colonist  patronisin'  a  Britisher. 
It's  turnin'  the  tables  on  'em ;  it's  sarvin'  'em  out  in  their  own  way. 
Lord,  I  think  I  see  Old  Bull  put  his  eye-glass  up  and  look  at  you, 
with  a  dead  aim,  and  hear  him  say,  '  Come,  this  is  cuttin'  it  rather 
fat.'  Or,  as  the  feller  said  to  his  second  wife,  when  she  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder,  *  Harm,  my  first  wife  was  a  Pursy,  and  she  never 
preSumed  to  take  that  liberty.*  Yes,  that's  good.  Squire.  Go  it,  my 
shirt-tails  I  you'll  win  if  you  get  in  fust,  see  if  you  don't.  Patronisin' 
a  Britisher!!!  A  critter  that  has  Lucifer's  pride,  Arkwright's 
wealth,  and  Bedlam's  sense,  ain't  it  rich  ?  Oh,  wake  snakes  and 
walk  your  chalks,  will  you  I     Give  me  your  figgery-four  Squke,  Xl\ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


49 


go  in  up  to  the  handle  for  you.     Hit  or  miss,  rough  or  tumble,  claw 
or  mud-scraper,  any  way,  you  damn  please,  I'm  your  man." 

But  to  return  to  my  narrative.  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  de- 
voting the  day  next  after  our  landing  at  Liverpool,  to  writing  letters 
announcing  ray  safe  arrival  to  my  anxious  friends  in  Nova  Scotia, 
and  in  different  parts  of  England  ;  and  also  some  few  on  matters  of 
business.  Mr.  Slick  was  very  urgent  in  his  request,  that  I  should 
defer  this  work  till  the  evening,  and  accompany  him  in  a  stroll  about 
the  town,  and  at  last  became  quite  peevish  at  my  reiterated  refusal. 

"  You  remind  me,  Squire,"  said  he,  "of  Rufus  Dodge,  our  great 
ile  marchant  of  Boston,  and  as  you  won't  walk,  p'raps  you'll  talk,  so 
I'll  jist  tell  you  the  story." 

"  I  was  once  at  the  Cataract  House  to  Niagara.  It  is  just  a  short 
distance  above  the  Falls.  Out  of  the  winders,  you  have  a  view  of 
the  splendid  white  waters,  or  the  rapids  of  foam,  afore  the  river 
takes  its  everlastin'  leap  over  the  cliflF. 

"  Well,  Rufus  come  all  the  way  from  Boston  to  see  the  Falls :  he 
said  he  did'nt  care  much  about  them  hisself,  seein'  that  he  wam't  in 
the  mill  business  ;  but,  as  he  was  a  goin'  to  England,  he  didn't  like 
to  say  he  hadn't  been  there,  especially  as  all  the  English  knowed 
about  America  was,  that  there  was  a  great  big  waterfall  called  Niag- 
ara, an  everlastin'  almighty  big  river  called  Mississippi,  and  a  parfect 
pictur*  of  a  wappin'  big  man  called  Kentuckian  there.  Both  t'other 
ones  he'd  seen  over  and  over  agin,  but  Niagara  he'd  never  sot 
eyes  on. 

"  So  as  soon  as  he  arrives,  he  goes  into  the  public  room,  and  looks 
at  the  white  waters,  and  sais  he,  '  Waiter,'  sais  he, '  is  them  the  Falls 
down  there  ?'  a-pintin'  by  accident  in  the  direction  where  the  Falls 
actilly  was. 

" '  Yes,  Sir,'  sais  the  waiter. 

" '  Hem !'  sais  Rufe,  '  them's  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  eh  !  So  I've 
seen  the  Falls  at  last,  eh  !  Well,  its  pretty  too :  they  a'int  bad,  that's 
a  fact.  So  them's  the  Falls  of  Niagara  1  How  long  is  it  afore  the 
stage  starts  ?' 

*'  <  An  hour,  Sir.' 

" '  Go  and  book  me  for  Boston,  and  then  bring  me  a  paper.' 

«*Yes,  Sir.' 

"  Well  he  got  his  paper  and  sot  there  a  readin*  of  it,  and  every 
now  and  then,  he'd  look  out  of  the  winder  and  say :  *  So  them's  the 
Falls  of  Niagara,  eh  ?  Well,  it's  a  pretty  little  mill  privilege  that 
too,  ain't  it ;  but  it  ain't  just  altogetlier  worth  comin'  so  far  to  see. 
So  I've  seen  the  Falls  at  last!' 

"  Arter  a  while  in  comes  a  Britisher. 

" '  Waiter,'  says  he, '  how  far  is  it  to  the  Falls  ?*    ' 

"  *  Little  over  half  a  mile.  Sir.' 

"  *  Which  way  do  you  get  there  ?* 

3 


60 


THE  AITACUE;   OB, 


)  I 

1 


"  '  Turn  to  the  right,  and  then  to  the  left,  and  then  go  a-head/ 

'^  Rate  heard  all  this,  and  it  kinder  seemed  dark  to  him ;  8o  arter 
cypherin'  it  over  in  his  head  a  bit,  '  Waiter,'  says  he,  *  aint  them  the 
Falls  of  Niagara,  I  see  there  ?' 

"'No,  Sir.' 

" '  Well,  that's  tarnation  all  over  now.     Not  the  Falls  P 

"'No,  Sir.' 

" '  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,  that  them  are  ain't  the  Falls?* 

"'Yes,  I  do.  Sir.' 

"  '  Heaven  and  airth !  "I've  come  hundreds  of  miles  a  purpus  to 
to  see  'em,  and  nothin'  else ;  not  a  bit  of  trade,  or  speckelation,  or 
any  airi.dy  thing  but  to  see  them  cussed  Falls,  and  come  as  near  as 
100  cents  to  a  dollar,  startin'  off  without  sein'  'em  ai'ter  all.  If  it 
hadn't  a  been  for  that  are  Britisher  I  wiis  sold,  that's  a  fact.  Can  I 
run  down  there  and  back  in  half  an  hour  in  time  for  the  stage?' 

" '  Yes,  Sir,  but  you  will  have  no  time  to  see  them.' 

" '  See  'em,  cuss  'em,  I  don't  want  to  see  'em,  I  tell  you.  I  want 
to  look  at  'em,  I  want  to  say  I  was  to  the  Falls,  that's  all.  Give  me 
my  hat,  quick !  So  them  ain't  the  Falls?  I  ha'n't  seed  the  Falls  of 
Niagara  after  all.  What  a  devil  of  a  take-in  that  is,  ain't  it  ?'  And 
he  dove  down  stairs  like  a  Newfoundland  dog  into  a  pond  arter  a 
stone,  and  out  of  sight  in  no  time. 

"  Now,  you  are  as  like  llufe,  as  two  peas,  Squire.  You  want  to 
say  you  was  to  Liverpool,  but  you  don't  want  to  see  nothin.' 

"  Waiter." 

"Sir." 

"  Is  this  Liverpool,  I  see  out  of  the  winder  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  Guess  I  have  seen  Liverpool  then.  So  this  is  the  great  city  of 
Liverpool,  eh  ?    When  does  the  train  start  for  London  ?" 

"  In  half  an  hour,  Sir." 

"  Book  me  for  London  then,  for  I  have  been  to  Liverpool  and 
seen  the  city.  Oh,  tiike  your  place,  Squire,  you  have  seen  Liver- 
pool ;  and  if  you  see  as  much  of  all  other  places,  as  you  have  of  this 
here  one,  afore  you  return  home,  you  will  know  most  as  much  of 
England  as  them  do  that  never  was  there  at  all. 

"  I  am  sorry  too,  you  won't  go.  Squire,"  added  he,  "  for  minister 
seems  kinder  dull." 

"  Don't  say  another  word,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  I ;  everything  shall 
give  way  to  him."  And  locking  up  my  writing-desk  I  said :  "  I  am 
ready." 

"  Stop,  Squire,"  said  he,  "  I've  got  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  Don't 
for  gracious  sake,  say  nothin'  before  Mr.  Hopewell  about  that  'ere 
lark  I  had  last  night  arter  landin',  it  would  sorter  worry  him,  and  set 
him  off  a-preachin',  and  I'd  rather  he'd  strike  me  any  time  amost 
than  lectur*,  for  he  does  it  so  tender  and  kindly,  it  hurts  my  feelins 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


61 


like,  a  considerable  sum.  I've  had  a  pretty  how-do-ye-do  about  it 
this  mornin',  and  have  had  to  plank  down  handsum',  and  do  the 
thing  genteel ;  but  Mister  Landlord  found,  I  reckon,  he  had  no  fool 
to  deal  with,  nother.  He  comes  to  me,  as  soon  as  I  waa  cleverly  up 
this  mornin',  lookin'  as  full  of  importance,  as  Jube  Japan  did  when  I 
put  the  Legation  button  on  him. 

"  •  Bad  business  this,  Sir,'  says  he  ;  'never  had  such  a  scene  in  my 
house  before,  Sir  ;  have  had  great  ditficulty  to  prevent  mj  sarvants 
takin'  the  law  of  you." 

"  '  Ah,'  sais  I  to  myself,  *  I  see  how  the  cat  jumps ;  here's  a  little 
tid  bit  of  extortion  now ;  but  you  won't  find  that  no  go,  I  don't  think.' 

"  '  You  will  have  to  satisfy  them.  Sir,'  says  he,  •  or  take  the  con- 
sequences.' 

"  •  Sartainly,'  said  I,  '  any  thing  you  please ;  I  leave  it  entirely  to 
you  ;  just  name  what  you  think  proper,  and  I  will  liquidate  it.' 

"  I  said,  I  knew  you  would  behave  like  a  gentleman.  Sir,'  said 
he,  '  for,  sais  I,  don't  talk  to  me  of  law,  name  it  to  the  gentleman, 
and  he'll  do  what  is  right ;  he'll  behave  liberal,  you  may  depend.' 

"  '  You  said  right,'  sais  I,  •  and  now.  Sir,  what's  the  damage  ?' 

•' '  Fifty  pounds,  I  should  think  about  the  thing,  Sir,'  said  he. 

"  '  Certainly,'  said  I,  '  you  shall  have  the  fifty  pounds,  but  you 
must  give  me  a  receipt  in  full  for  it.' 

•"By  all  means,'  said  he,  and  he  was  acuttin'  off  full  chisel  to  get 
a  stamp,  vhen  I  sais,  '  Stop,'  sais  I,  '  uncle,  mind  and  put  in  the  re- 
ceipt, the  bill  of  items,  and  charge  'em  separate  1' 

" '  Bill  of  items  ?'  sais  he. 

"  '  Yes,'  sais  I,  •  let  me  see  what  each  is  to  get.  Well,  there's 
the  waiter,  now.  Say  to  knockin'  down  the  waiter  and  kicking  him, 
so  much ;  then  there's  the  barmaid  so  much,  and  so  on.  I  make  no 
objection,  I  am  willin'to  pay  all  you  ask,  but  I  want  to  include  all,  for 
I  intend  to  post  a  copy  of  it  in  the  elegant  cabins  of  each  of  our  New 
York  Liners.  This  house  convenes  the  Americans — they  all  know 
me.  I  want  them  to  know  how  their  Attache  was  imposed  on,  and 
if  any  American  ever  sets  foot  in  this  cussed  house  agin  I  will  pay 
his  bill,  and  post  that  up  too,  as  a  letter  of  credit  for  him.' 

" '  You  wouldn'nt  take  that  advantage  of  me,  Sir  ?'  said  he. 

" '  I  take  no  advantage,'  sais  I.  '  I'll  pay  you  what  you  ask,  but 
you  shall  never  take  advantage  agin  of  another  free  and  enlightened 
American  citizen,  I  can  tell  you.' 

"  •  You  must  keep  your  money  then.  Sir,'  said  he,  '  but  this  is  not 
a  fair  deal ;  no  gentleman  would  do  it.' 

•• '  What's  fair,  I  am  willin'  to  do,'  sais  I ;  '  what's  onfair,  is  what 
you  want  to  do.  Now,  look  here :  I  knocked  the  waiter  down ;  here 
is  two  sovereigns  for  him  ;  I  won't  pay  him  nothin'  for  the  kickin,* 
for  that  I  give  him  out  of  contempt,  for  not  defendin'  of  himself. 
Here's  three  sovereigns  for  the  bar-maid ;  she  don't  ought  to  have 


' 


62 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


nothing',  for  ahe  nevor  got  so  innocent  a  kiss  nfore,  in  all  her  born 
days  I  know,  for  I  did'nt  moan  no  harm,  and  she  never  f»ot  so  good 
a  one  ntuiv  nother,  that's  a  fact ;  but  then  /ought  to  pay,  I  do  sup- 
pose, because  1  hadn't  ought  to  treat  a  lady  that  way  ;  it  was  oidian- 
8um',  that's  fact ;  and  besides,  it  tante  right  to  give  the  galls  a  taste 
for  such  things.  They  come  fast  enough  in  the  nateral  way,  do 
kisses,  without  inokilatin  folks  for  'em.  Aiid  here's  a  sovereign  for 
the  scoldin'  and  slscerarin'  you  gave  the  maid  that  spilt  the  coals  and 
that's  an  eend  of  the  matter,  and  I  don't  wan't  no  receipt.' 

"  Well  he  bowed  and  walked  off,  without  sayin'  of  a  word." 

Here  Mr.  Hopewell  joined  us,  and  we  descended  to  tlu;  street,  to 
commence  our  perambulation  of  the  city  ;  but  it  had  begun  to  rain, 
and  we  were  compelled  to  defer  it  until  the  next  day. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  much  matter.  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick :  "  ain't  that 
Liverpool,  I  see  out  of  the  winder  ?  Well,  then  I've  been  to  Liver- 
pool. Book  me  for  London.  So  I  have  seen  Liverpool  at  last,  eh  1 
or,  as  Rufus  said,  1  have  felt  it  too,  for  this  wet  day  reminds  me  of 
the  rest  of  his  story. 

"  In  about  a  half-hour  arter  Rufus  raced  off  to  the  Falls,  back  he 
comes  as  hard  as  he  could  tear,  a-puHing  and  a  blowin'  like  a  size- 
able grampus.  You  never  seed  such  a  figure  as  he  was,  he  was  wet 
through  and  through,  and  the  dry  dust  stickin'  to  his  clothes,  made 
him  look  like  a  dog,  th  it  had  jumped  into  the  water,  and  then  took  a 
roll  in  the  road  to  dry  hisself ;  he  was  a  caution  to  look  at,  that's  a 
fact. 

"  *  Well,*  sais  I,  *  Stranger,  did  you  see  the  Falls  ?' 

" '  Yes,'  sais  he,  '  I  have  see'd  'em  and  felt  'era  too :  them's  very 
wet  Falls,  that's  a  fact.  I  hante  a  dry  rag  on  me  ;  if  it  hadn't  a  been 
for  that  ere  Britisher,  I  wouldn't  have  see'd  'em  at  all,  and  yet  a 
thought  I  had  been  there  all  the  time.  It's  a  pity  too,  that  that  win- 
der don't  bear  on  it,  for  then  you  could  see  it  without  the  trouble  of 
goin'  there,  or  gettin'  ducked,  or  gettin'  skeered  so.  I  got  an  awful 
fright  there — I  shall  never  forget  it,  if  I  live  as  long  as  Merusalem. 
You  know  I  hadn't  much  time  left,  when  I  found  out  I  hadn't  been 
there  arter  all,  so  I  ran  all  the  way,  right  down  as  hard  as  I  could 
clip  ;  and,  seen'  some  folks  comin'  out  from  onder  the  Fall,  I  pushed 
straight  in,  but  the  noise  actilly  stunned  me,  and  the  spray  wet  me 
through  and  through  like  a  piece  of  sponged  cloth ;  and  the  great 
pourin',  bilin'  flood,  blinded  me  so  I  could'nt  see  a  bit :  and  I  hadn't 
gone  far  in,  afore  a  cold,  wet,  clammy,  dead  hand,  felt  my  face  all  over. 
I  believe  in  my  soul,  it  was  the  Indian  squaw  that  went  over  the 
Falls  in  the  canoe,  or  the  crazy  Englisher,  that  tried  to  jump 
across  it. 

"  '  Oh  creation,  how  cold  it  was  !  The  moment  that  spirit  rose, 
mine  fell,  and  I  actilly  thought  I  should  have  dropt  lumpus,  I  was 
80  skeered.    Give  me  your  hand,  said  Ghost,  for  I  didn't  see  nothin' 


i 


SAM   SLICK   JN   KNOLAND. 


but  a  kinder  dark  shader.  Give  me  your  hand.  I  think  it  must 
lia'  bee  •»  squttw,  Ibr  it  begged  for  nil  the  world,  jist  like  oil 
Indgian  l  see  you  hanged  i'ust,  said  I ;  I  wouldn't  toueh  that 

are  dead  tacky  hand  o'  your'n  for  half  a  nnllion  o'  hard  dollars, 
cash  down  without  any  ragged  eends ;  and  with  that,  I  turned  to 
run  out,  but  Lord  love  you,  I  couldn't  run.  The  atones  was  all  wet 
and  slimy,  and  onnateral  slippy,  and  I  expected  every  minute,  I 
should  heels  up  and  go  for  it :  atwecn  them  two  critters,  the  Ghost 
and  the  juicy  ledge,  1  felt  awful  skeered,  I  tell  you.  So  I  begins  to 
say  my  catechism.  What's  your  name  ?  sais  I.  Uufus  Dodge. 
Who  gave  you  that  name  ?  Godfather  and  godmother  granny 
Eells.  What  did  they  promise  for  you  ?  That  I  should  renounce 
the  devil  and  all  his  works — works — works — I  couldn't  get  no  far- 
ther, I  stuck  fast  there,  for  I  had  forgot  it. 

" '  The  moment  I  stopt.  Ghost  kinder  jumped  forward,  and  seized 
me  by  my  mustn't-mention'ems,  and  most  pulled  the  seat  out.  Oh 
dear  1  to  heart  most  went  out  along  with  it,  for  I  thought  my  time 
had  CO)  You  black  sea-sinner  of  a  heathen  Indgian !  sais  I ;  let 

me  gc  blessed  minute,  for  I  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his 

works,  the  devil  and  all  his  works — so  there  now ;  and  I  let  go  a 
kick  behind,  the  wickedest  you  ever  see,  and  took  it  right  in  the 
bread  basket.  Oh,  it  yelled  and  howled  and  screached  like  a 
wounded  hyajna,  till  my  ears  fairly  cracked  agin.  I  renounce  you, 
Satan,  sais  I ;  I  renounce  you,  and  the  world,  and  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil.  And  now,  sais  I,  a  jumpin'  on  terry  firm  once  more,  and 
turnin'  round  and  facin'  the  enemy,  I'll  promise  a  little  dust  more 
for  myself,  and  that  is,  to  renounce  Niagara,  and  Indgian  squaws, 
and  dead  Britishers,  and  the  whole  seed,  breed,  and  generation  of 
*em,  from  this  time  forth,  for  evermore.     Amen. 

" '  Oh  blazes  I  how  cold  my  face  is  yet !  Waiter,  half  a  pint  of 
clear  cocktail ;  somethin'  to  .warm  me.  Oh,  that  cold  hand  1  Did 
you  ever  touch  a  dead  man's  hand  ?  it's  awful  cold,  you  may  de- 
pend. Is  there  any  marks  on  my  face  ?  Do  you  see  the  tracks  of 
the  fingers  there  ?' 

" '  No,  Sir,*  sais  I,  *  I  can't  say  I  do.* 

"'Well,  then,  I  feel  them  there,'  sais  he,  *as  plain  as  any- 
thing.' 

" '  Stranger,'  sais  I,  *  it  was  nothin'  but  some  poor  no-souled  crit- 
ter, like  yourself,  that  was  skeered  a'most  to  death,  and  wanted  to  be 
helped  out,  that's  all.' 

"  *  Skeered  !*  said  he  :  *  sarves  him  right,  then  ;  he  might  have 
knowed  how  to  feel  for  other  folks,  and  not  funkify  them  so  peskily ; 
I  don't  keer  if  he  never  gets  out ;  but  I  have  my  doubts  about  it's 
bein'  a  livin'  human,  I  tell  you.  If  I  hadn't  a  renounced  the  devil 
and  all  his  works  that  time,  I  don't  know  what  the  upshot  would 
have  been,  for  Old  Scratch  was  there  too.    I  saw  him  as  plain  as  I 


■^WW'1'1  ."l^"""'  TW""  ITSUJ«»>IVJi|M"H  W  <«*l|fWljnW*1>7^0>V>r.^ 


54 


THE  ATTACH^;  OB, 


I 


see  you  ;  he  ran  out  afore  me,  and  couldn't  stop  or  look  back,  as 
long  as  I  said  catechism.  He  was  in  his  old  shape  of  the  sarpent ; 
he  was  the  matter  of  a  yard  long,  and  as  thick  round  as  my  arm, 
and  travelled  belly-flounder  fashion ;  when  I  touched  land,  he  dodged 
into  an  eddy,  and  out  of  sight  in  no  time.  Oh,  there  is  no  mistake, 
I'll  take  my  oath  of  it ;  I  see  him,  I  did,  upon  my  soul.  It  was  the 
old  gentleman  hisself ;  he  come  there  to  cool  hisself.  Oh,  it  was  the 
devil,  that's  a  fact.' 

" '  It  was  nothin'  but  a  fresh-water  eel,*  sais  I ;  '  I  have  seen 
thousands  of  *em  there  ;  for  the  crevices  of  them  rocks  are  chock 
full  of  'em.  How  can  you  come  for  to  go  for  to  talk  arter  that 
fashion  ?  You  are  a  disgrace  to  our  great  nation,  you  great  lummo- 
kin  coward,  you.  An  American  citizen  is  afeerd  of  nothin'  but  a 
bad  spekilation,  or  bein'  found  out.' 

"  Well,  that  posed  him — he  seemed  kinder  bothered,  and  looked 
down. 

"  *  An  eel,  eh !  "Well,  it  mought  be  an  eel,'  sais  I,  '  that's  a  fact. 
I  didn't  think  of  that ;  but  then  if  it  was,  it  was  godmother  granny 
-ells,  that  promised  I  should  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his  works, 
')iat  took  that  shape,  and  come  to  keep  me  to  my  bargcv'n.  She 
died  fifty  years  ago,  poor  old  soul,  and  never  kept  company  with 
Indgians,  or  niggers,  or  any  such  trash.  Heavens  and  airthl  I 
don't  wonder  the  Falls  wakes  the  dead,  it  makes  such  an  everlastin* 
almighty  noise,  does  Niagara.  Waiter,  more  cocktail — that  last  was 
as  weak  as  water.' 

"  '  Yes,  Sir,'  and  he  swallered  it  like  wink. 

"  *  The  stage  is  ready.  Sir.' 

" '  Is  it  ?'  said  he,  and  he  jumped  in,  all  wet  as  he  was  ;  for  time 
is  monej',  and  he  didn't  want  to  waste  neither.  As  it  drove  off,  I 
heerd  him  say,  '  Well,  them's  the  Falls,  eh !  So  I  have  seen  the 
Falls  of  Niagara  and  felt  'em  too,  eh  !'  • 

"  Now,  we  are  better  off  than  Rufus  Dodge  was,  Squire  ;  for  he 
hante  got  wet,  and  we  hante  got  frightened,  but  we  can  look  out  o* 
the  winder  and  say,  '  Well,  that's  Liverpool,  eh !  So  I  have — seen 
Liverpool.' " 


,K.J.i 


<.'yiK:. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


I»6 


CHAPTER    IX. 

CHANGING     A    NAME. 

The  rain  having  confined  us  to  the  house  this  afternoon,  we  sat 
over  our  wiae  after  dinner  longer  than  usual.  Among  the  different 
topics  that  were  discussed,  the  most  prominent  was  the  state  of  the 
political  parties  in  this  country.  Mr.  Slick,  who  paid  great  defer- 
ence to  the  opinions  of  Mr.  PLopewell,  was  anxious  to  ascertain  from 
him  what  he  thought  upon  the  subject,  in  order  to  regulate  his  con- 
duct and  conversation  by  it  hereafter. 

"  Minister,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  think  of  the  politics  of  the 
British?" 

"  I  don't  think  about  them  at  all,  Sam.  I  hear  so  much  of  such 
matters  at  home,  that  I  am  heartily  tired  of  them ;  our  political 
world  is  divided  into  iwo  classes,  the  knaves  and  the  dupes.  Don't 
let  us  talk  of  such  exciting  things." 

*'  But,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  holdin'  the  high  and  dignified 
station  I  do,  as  Attache,  they  will  be  a-pumpin'  me  for  everlastinly, 
will  the  great  men  here,  and  they  think  a  plaguy  sight  more  of  our 
opinion  than  you  are  aware  on  ;  we  have  tried  all  them  things  they 
are  a  jawin*  about  here,  and  they  naterally  want  to  know  the  re- 
sults. Cooper  says  not  one  Tory  called  on  him  when  he  was  to 
England,  but  Walter  Scott ;  and  that,  I  take  it,  was  more  lest  folks 
should  think  he  was  jealous  of  him,  than  anything  else ;  they  jist 
cut  him  as  dead  as  a  skunk ;  but  among  the  Whigs  he  was  quite  an 
oracle  on  ballot,  universal  suffrage,  and  all  other  democratic  institu- 
tions." 

*'•  Well,  he  was  a  ninny,  then,  was  Cooper,  to  go  and  blart  it  all 
out  to  the  world  that  way ;  for  if  no  Tory  visited  him,  I  iftiould  like 
you  to  ask  him,  the  next  time  you  see  him,  how  many  gentlemen 
called  upon  him?  Jist  ask  him  that,  and  it  will  ^.top  him  from 
writing  such  stuff  any  more." 

"  But,  Minister,  jist  tell  us  now,  here  you  are,  as  a  body  might 
say  in  England,  now  what  are  you  ?" 

*'  I  am  a  man,  Sam : — Homo  sum,  kumani  nihil  a  me  alienum 
piUo"  • 

"  Well,  what's  all  that  when  it's  fried  ?" 

"  Why,  that  when  away  from  home,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  world. 


»»p"">p"">(nn»™"^"»w«^!""«'ii"M»  I""- '  i"*  "H'lw  fnwpfivjwwpwwi^ 


I 


66 


mS  ATTACH^;   OB, 
party,  but  take  an  interest  in  the  whole  human 


I  belong  to  no 
family." 

"  Well,  Minister,  if  you  choose  to  sing  dumb,  you  can ;  but  I 
should  like  to  have  you  answer  me  one  question  now ;  and  if  you 
won't,  why  you  must  jist  do  t'other  thing,  that's  all.  Are  you  a 
Consarvative  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  a  Whig  ?" 

"  No." 

«  A  Radical  ?" 

«  God  forbid !" 

"  What  in  natur*  are  you,  then  ?" 

«  A  Tory." 

"  A  Tory  I  Well,  I  thought  that  a  Tory  and  a  Consarvative 
were,  as  the  Indgians  say,  *  all  same  one  brudder.*  Where  is  the 
difference  ?" 

"  You  will  soon  find  that  out,  Sam :  go  and  talk  to  a  Consarva- 
tive as  a  Tory,  and  you  will  find  he  is  a  Whig ;  go  and  talk  to  him 
again  as  a  Whig,  and  you  will  find  he  is  a  Tory.  They  are,  for  all 
the  world,  like  a  sturgeon.  There  is  very  good  beef-steaks  in  a 
sturgeon,  and  very  good  fish,  too,  and  yet  it  tante  either  fish  or  flesh. 
I  don't  like  taking  a  new  name — it  looks  amazing  like  taking  new 
principles,  or,  at  all  events,  like  loosenin'  old  ones,  and  I  hante  seen 
the  creed  of  this  new  sect  yet — I  don't  know  what  its  tenets  are, 
nor  where  to  go  and  look  for  'em.  It  strikes  me  they  don't  accord 
with  the  Tories,  and  yet  arn't  in  tune  with  the  Whigs,  but  are  half 
a  note  lower  than  the  one,  and  half  a  note  higher  than  t'other. 
Now,  changes  in  the  body  politic  are  always  necessary  more  or 
less,  in  order  to  meet  the  changes  of  time,  and  the  changes  in  the 
condition  of  man.  When  they  are  necessary,  make  'em,  and  ha* 
done  with  'em.  Make  'em  like  men,  not  when  you  are  forced  to 
do  so,  and  nobody  thanks  you,  but  when  you  see  they  are  wanted, 
and  are  proper ;  but  don't  alter  your  name. 

"  My  wardens  wanted  me  to  do  that ;  they  came  to  me,  and  saiu, 
*  Minister,'  says  they,  '  we  don't  want  you  to  change,  we  don't  ask 
it ;  jist  let  us  call  you  a  Unitarian,  and  you  can  remain  Episcopa- 
lian still.  We  are  tired  of  that  old-fashioned  name — it's  generally 
thought  unsuited  to  the  times,  and  behind  the  enhghtenment  of  the 
age ;  it's  only  fit  for  benighted  Europeans.  Change  the  name,  you 
needn't  change  anything  else.     What's  in  a  name  ?" 

** '  Everything,*  says  I,  *  everything,  my  brethren :  one  name  be- 
longs to  a  Christian,  and  the  other  don't ;  that's  the  difference.  I'd 
die  before  I  surrendered  my  name  ;  for  in  surrenderin*  that,  I  sur- 
render my  principles.' " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Slick :  "  that's  what  Brother  Eldad  used  to 
say.    '  Sam,'  said  he,  <  a  man  with  an  alias  is  the  worst  character 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


57 


human 

;  but  I 

if  you 

i  you  a 


ill  the  world ;  for  takin'  a  new  name,  shows  he  is  ashamed  of  his  old 
one ;  and  havin'  an  old  one,  shows  his  new  one  is  a  cheat.' " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "I  don't  like  that  word  Consarvative. 
Them  folks  may  be  good  kind  of  people,  and  I  guess  they  be,  seein' 
that  the  Tories  support  'em,  which  is  the  best  thing  I  see  about 
them  ;  but  I  don't  like  changin'  a  name." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Slick :  "  p'rhaps  their  old  name 
was  so  infarnal  dry-cotted,  they  wanted  to  change  it  for  a  sound 
new  one.  You  recollect  when  that  super-superior  villain.  Expected 
Thorne,  brought  an  action  of  defamation  agin'  me,  to  Slickville,  for 
takin'  away  his  character,  about  stealing  the  watch  to  Nova  Scotia : 
well,  I  jist  pleaded  my  own  case,  and  I  ups  and  says,  '  Gentlemen 
of  the  Jury,*  sais  I,  *  Expected's  character,  every  soul  knows,  is 
about  the  wust  in  all  Slickville.  If  I  have  taken  it  away,  I  have 
done  him  a  great  sarvice,  for  he  has  a  smart  chance  of  gettin'  a 
better  one ;  and  if  he  don't  find  a  swap  to  his  mind,  why  no  charac- 
ter is  better  nor  a  bad  one.* 

"  Well,  the  old  judge  and  the  whole  court  larfed  right  out  like 
anythin' ;  and  the  jury,  without  stirrin'  from  the  box,  returned  a 
vardict  for  the  defendant.  P'rhaps,  now,  that  mought  be  the  case 
with  the  Tories." 

"  The  difference,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  is  jist  this : — your  friend, 
Mr.  Expected  Thorne,  had  a  name  he  had  ought  to  have  been 
ashamed  of,  and  the  Tories  one  that  the  whole  nation  had  very  great 
reason  to  be  proud  of.  There  is  some  little  difference,  you  must 
admit.  My  English  politics  (mind  you,  I  say  English,  for  they 
have  no  reference  to  America)  are  Tory,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  to 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  or  Lord  John  Russell  either." 

"  As  for  Johnny  Russell,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "he  is  a  clever  little 
chap  that ;  he — " 

"  Don't  call  him  Johnny  Russell,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  or  a  little 
chap,  or  such  flippant  names — I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that 
way.  It  neither  becomes  you  as  a  Christian  nor  a  gentleman.  St. 
Luke  smd  St.  Paul,  when  addressing  people  of  rank,  use  the  word 
*  xpaTitfToff,'  which,  as  nearly  as  possible,  answers  to  the  title  of '  Your 
Excellency.'  Honor,  we  are  told,  should  be  given  to  those  to  whom 
honor  is  due  ;  and  if  we  had  no  such  authority  on  the  subject,  the 
omission  of  titles,  where  they  are  usual  and  legal,  is,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  a  vulgar  familiarity,  ill  becoming  an  Attache  of  our 
Embassy.  But  as  I  was  saying,  I  do  not  require  to  go  to  either  of 
those  statesmen  to  be  instructed  in  my  politics.  I  take  mine  where 
I  take  my  religion,  from  the  Bible.  '  Fear  God,  honor  the  King, 
and  meddle  not  with  those  that  are  given  to  change.' " 

"Oh,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "you  mis't  a  figur  at  our  glorious 
Revolution — ^you  had  ought  to  have  held  on  to  the  British ;  they 
would  have  made  a  Bishop  of  you,  and  shoved  you  into  the  House 

3* 


'^wfn^rjm.mT^mf^^ 


"(WWPfWWW^^ 


li 


58 


THE  ATTACHi:;   OR, 


of  Lords,  black  apron,  lawn  sleeves,  shovel  hat  and  all,  as  sure  as 
rates.  *  The  Right  Reverend,  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Slickville  :* 
wouldn't  it  look  well  on  the  back  of  a  letter,  eh  ?  or  your  signature 
to  one  sent  to  me,  signed  *  Joshua  Slickville.'  It  sounds  better, 
that,  than  *01d  Minister,'  don't  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  go  for  to  talk  that  way,  Sam,  I  am  done ;  but  I  will 
show  you  that  the  Tories  are  the  men  to  govern  this  great  nation. 
A  Tory  I  may  say  *  noscitur  a  sociis.' " 

"  What  in  natur  is  that,  when  it's  biled  and  the  skin  took  off?" 
asked  Mr.  Slick. 

"  "Why,  is  it  possible  you  don't  know  that  ?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  common  schoolboy  phrase  ?" 

"  Guess  I  do  know ;  but  it  don't  tally  jist  altogether  nohow,  as  it 
were.     Known  as  a  Socialist,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  If,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  with  much  earnestness,  "  If,  instead 
of  ornamenting  your  conversation  with  cant  terms,  and  miserable 
slang,  picked  up  from  the  lowest  refuse  of  our  population,  both  east 
and  west,  you  had  cultivated  your  mind,  and  enriched  it  with  quota- 
tions from  classical  writers,  you  would  have  been  more  like  an 
Attach^,  and  less  like  a  peddling  clockmaker  than  you  are." 

"  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  was  only  in  jeest,  but  you  are  in 
airnest.  What  you  have  said  is  too  true  for  a  joke,  and  I  feel  it.  I 
was  only  a  sparrin' ;  but  you  took  off  the  gloves,  and  felt  my  short 
ribs  in  a  way  that  has  given  me  a  stitch  in  the  side.  It  tante  fair  to 
kick  that  way  afore  you  are  spurred.     You've  hurt  me  considerable." 

"  Sam,  I  am  old,  narvous,  and  irritable.  I  was  wrong  to  speak 
unkindly  to  you,  very  wrong  indeed,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it;  but  don't 
teaze  me  no  more,  that's  a  good  lad ;  for  I  feel  worse  than  you  do 
about  it.     I  beg  your  pardon,  I " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  to  get  back  to  what  we  was  a  sayin*,  for 
you  do  talk  like  a  book,  that's  a  fact;  *  noscitur  a  sociis,'  says  you." 

"  Ay, '  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together,'  as  the  old  maxim  goes. 
Now,  Sam,  who  supported  the  Whigs  ?" 

"  Why,  let  me  see ;  a  few  of  the  lords,  a  few  of  the  gentry,  the 
repealers,  the  manufacturin'  folks,  the  independents,  the  baptists,  the 
dissentin'  Scotch,  the  socialists,  the  radicals,  the  discontented,  and 
most  of  the  lower  orders,  and  so  on." 

"  Wcii,  who  supported  the  Tories  ?" 

"  Why,  the  majority  of  the  lords,  the  great  body  of  landed  gentry, 
the  univarsities,  the  whole  of  the  Church  of  England,  the  whole  of 
the  methodists  amost,  the  principal  part  of  the  kirk,  the  great  march- 
ants,  capitalists,  bankers,  lawyers,  army  and  navy  officers,  and  so  on." 

"  Now  don't  take  your  politics  from  me,  Sam,  for  I  am  no  politi- 
cian ;  but  as  an  American  citizen,  judge  for  yourself,  which  of  those 
two  parties  is  most  likely  to  be  right,  or  which  would  you  like  to 
belong  to  ?"  ^         .  -,  , 


M 


,,  iiiniiiiiiipiii^ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


69 


sure  as 
ckville :' 
iignature 
s  better, 

ut  I  will 
t  nation. 

ok  off?'» 

brgotten 

ow,  as  it 

*,  instead 
miserable 
>oth  east 
h  quota- 
like an 

u  are  in 
el  it.  I 
ny  short 
e  fair  to 
lerable." 
o  speak 
)ut  don't 
you  do 

yin',  for 
s  you." 
m  goes. 

try,  the 
ists,  the 
ed,  and 


gentry, 
hole  of 
march- 
so  on." 
politi- 
f  those 
like  to 


•-.-■w 


"  "Well,  I  must  say,**  replied  he,  "  I  do  think  that  the  lamin',  piety, 
property,  and  respectability,  is  on  the  Tory  side ;  and  where  all  them 
things  is  united,  right  most  commonly  is  found  a-joggin'  along  in 
company." 

"  Well  now,  Sam,  you  know  we  are  a  calculatin*  people,  a  com- 
mercial people,  a  practical  people.  Europe  laughs  at  us  for  it.  Per- 
haps if  they  attended  better  to  their  own  financial  affairs,  they  would 
be  in  a  better  situation  to  laugh.  But  still  we  must  look  to  facts  and 
results.  How  did  the  Tories,  when  they  went  out  of  office,  leave 
the  kingdom  ?    At  peace  ?" 

"  Yes,  with  all  the  world." 

" How  did  the  Whigs  leave  it?" 

"  With  three  wars  on  hand,  and  one  in  the  vat  a-brewin*  with 
America.  Every  great  interest  injured,  some  ruined,  and  all  alarmed 
at  the  impendin'  danger — of  national  bankruptcy." 

"  Well,  now  for  dollars  and  cents.  How  did  the  Tories  leave  the 
treasury  ?' 

"  With  a  surplus  revenue  of  millions." 

"Plow  did  the  Whigs?" 

"  With  a  deficiency  that  made  the  nation  scratch  their  head,  and 
stare  agin." 

"  I  could  go  through  the  details  with  you,  as  far  as  my  imperfect 
information  extends,  or  more  imperfect  memory  would  let  me ;  but 
it  is  all  the  same,  and  always  will  be,  here,  in  France,  with  us,  in 
the  colonies,  and  everywhere  else.  Whenever  property,  talent,  and 
virtue  are  all  on  one  side,  and  only  ignorant  numbers,  wi^h  a  mere 
sprinkling  of  property  and  talent  to  agitate  'em  and  make  use  of  'em, 
or  misinformed  or  mistaken  virtue  to  sanction  'em  on  the  other  side, 
no  honest  man  can  take  long  to  deliberate  which  side  he  will  choose. 

"As  to  those  Conservatives,  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Sam,  I 
should  like  to  put  you  right  if  I  could.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  puz- 
zles me.  I  ask  myself,  what  is  a  Tory  ?  I  find  he  is  a  man  who 
goes  the  whole  figur'  for  the  support  of  the  monarchy,  in  its  three 
orders,  of  king,  lords,  and  commons,  as  by  law  established ;  that  he 
is  for  the  connection  of  Church  and  State,  and  so  on ;  and  that  as  the 
wealthiest  man  in  England,  he  offers  to  prove  his  sincerity,  by  pay- 
ing the  greatest  part  of  the  taxes  to  uphold  these  things.  Well, 
then  I  ask  what  is  Conservatism  ?  I  am  told  that  it  means,  what  it 
imports,  a  conservation  of  things  as  they  are.  Where,  then,  is  the 
difference?  If  there  is  no  difference,  it  is  a  mere  juggle  to  change 
the  name :  if  there  is  a  difference,  the  word  is  worse  than  a  juggle,  for 
it  don't  import  any." 

"  Tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  heerd  an  old  critter  to  Hali- 
fax once  describe  'em  beautiful.  He  said  he  could  tell  a  man's  poli- 
ticks by  his  shirt.  *  A  Tory,  Sir,'  said  he,  for  he  was  a  pompious 
old  boy  was  old  Blue-Nose ;  '  a  Tory,  Sir,'  said  he, '  is  a  gentleman 


60 


THE  attache;   or, 


every  inch  of  him,  stock,  lock,  and  barrel ;  and  he  puts  a  clean  frill 
shirt  on  every  day.  A  Whig,  Sir,*  says  he,  '  is  a  gentleman  every 
other  inch  of  him,  and  he  puts  an  onfrilled  one  on  every  other  day. 
A  Radical,  Sir,  ain't  no  gentleman  at  all,  and  he  only  puts  one  on  of 
a  Sunday.  But  a  Chartist,  Sir,  is  a  loafer ;  he  never  puts  one  on  till 
the  old  one  won't  hold  together  no  longer,  and  drops  off  in  pieces.' " 
"  Pooh !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  now  don't  talk  nonsense ;  but  as  I 
was  a-goin'  to  say,  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  a  straight-forward  man, 
Sam  ;  what  I  say,  I  mean ;  and  what  I  mean,  I  say.  Private  and 
public  life  are  subject  to  the  same  rules ;  and  truth  and  manliness 
are  two  qualities  that  will  carry  you  through  this  world  much  better 
than  policy,  or  tact,  or  expediency,  or  any  other  word  that  ever  was 
devised  to  conceal,  or  mystify  a  deviation  from  the  straight  line. 
They  have  a  sartificate  of  character,  these  Consarvatives,  in  having 
the  support  of  the  Tories ;  but  that  don't  quite  satisfy  me.  It  may, 
perhaps,  mean  no  more  than  this,  arter  all — they  are  the  best  sarv- 
nfss  we  have ;  but  not  as  good  as  we  want.  However,  I  shall  know 
more  about  it  soon ;  and  when  I  do,  I  will  give  you  my  opinion  can- 
didly. One  thing,  however,  is  certain,  a  change  in  the  institutions 
of  a  country  I  could  accede  to,  approve,  and  support,  if  necessary 
and  good ;  but  I  never  can  approve  of  either  an  individual  or  a 
party — '  changing  a  name^  " 


CHAPTER    X. 
THE    NELSON    MONUMENT. 

The  following  day  being  dry,  we  walked  out  to  view  the  wonders 
of  this  great  commercial  city  of  England,  Liverpool.  The  side-paths 
were  filled  with  an  active  and  busy  population,  and  the  main  streets 
thronged  with  heavily-laden  wagons,  conveying  to  the  docks  the 
manufactures  of  the  country,  or  carrying  inward  the  productions  of 
foreign  nations.     It  was  an  animating  and  busy  scene. 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  is  solitude.  It  is  in  a  place  like  this, 
that  you  feel  yourself  to  be  an  isolated  being,  when  you  are  sur- 
rounded by  multitudes  who  have  no  sympathy  with  you,  to  whom 
you  are  not  only  wholly  unknown,  but  not  one  of  whom  you  have 
ever  seen  before. 

"  The  solitude  of  the  vast  American  forest  is  not  equal  to  this. 
Encompassed  by  the  great  objects  of  nature,  you  recognize  nature's 
God  everywhere ;  you  feel  his  presence,  and  rely  on  his  protection. 
Everything  in  a  city  is  artificial,  the  predominant  idea  is  man ;  and 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


n 


man,  under  circumstances  like  the  present,  is  neither  your  friend  nop 
protector.  You  form  no  part  of  tlie  social  system  here.  Gregarious 
by  nature,  you  cannot  associate ;  dependent,  you  cannot  attach  your- 
self; a  rational  being,  you  cannot  interchange  ideas.  In  seeking  the 
wilderness  you  enter  the  abode  of  solitude,  and  are  naturally  and 
voluntarily  alone.  On  visiting  a  city,  on  the  contrary,  you  enter  the 
residence  of  man,  and  if  you  are  forced  into  isolation  there,  to  you  it 
is  worse  than  a  desert. 

"  I  know  of  nothing  so  depressing  as  this  feeling  of  unconnected 
individuality,  amidst  a  dense  population  like  this.  But,  my  friend, 
there  is  One  who  never  forsakes  us  either  in  the  throng  or  the  wil- 
derness, whose  ear  is  always  open  to  our  petitions,  and  who  has  in- 
vited us  to  rely  on  his  goodness  and  mercy. 

"  You  hadn't  ought  to  feel  lonely  here.  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick. 
"  It's  a  place  we  have  a  right  to  boast  of  is  Liverpool ;  we  built  it, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  to  build  two  such  cities  as  New  York  and 
Liverpool  in  the  short  time  we  did,  is  sunthin'  to  brag  of.  If  there 
had  been  no  New  York,  there  would  have  been  no  Liverpool ;  but 
if  there  had  been  no  Liverpool,  there  would  have  been  a  New  York 
though.  They  couldn't  do  nothin'  without  us.  We  had  to  build 
them  elegant  line-packets  for  'em ;  they  couldn't  build  one  that  could 
sail,  and  if  she  sail'd  she  couldn't  steer,  and  if  she  sail'd  and  steer'd, 
she  upsot ;  there  was  always  a  screw  loose  somewhere. 

"  It  cost  us  a  great  deal,  too,  to  build  them  ere  great  docks.  They 
cover  about  seventy  acres,  I  reckon.  We  have  to  pay  heavy  port 
dues  to  keep  'em  up,  and  liquidate  interest  on  capital.  The  worst 
of  it  is,  too,  wliile  we  pay  for  all  this,  we  hante  got  the  direction  of 
the  works." 

"  If  you  have  paid  for  all  these  things,"  said  I,  "  you  had  better 
lay  claim  to  Liverpool.  Like  the  disputed  territory  (to  which  it  now 
appears,  you  knew  you  had  no  legal  or  equitable  claim),  it  is  proba- 
ble you  will  have  half  of  it  ceded  to  you,  for  the  purpose  of  concilia- 
tion. I  admire  this  boast  of  yours  uncommonly.  It  reminds  me  of 
the  conversation  we  had  some  years  ago,  about  the  device  on  your 
*  naval  button,'  of  the  eagle  holding  an  anchor  in  its  claws — that  na- 
tional emblem  of  ill-directed  ambition,  and  vulgar  preteu:  .ou." 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  hint,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  was  in  jeest 
like ;  but  there  is  more  in  it,  for  all  that,  than  you'd  think.  It  ain't 
literal  fact,  but  it  is  figurative  truth.  But  now  I'll  show  you  sun- 
thin*  in  this  town,  that's  as  false  as  parjury — sunthin'  that's  a  dis- 
grace to  this  country  and  an  insult  to  our  great  nation ;  and  there 
is  no  jeest  in  it  nother,  but  a  downright  lie  ;  ad,  since  you  go  for 
to  throw  up  to  me  our  naval  button  with  its  *  eagle  and  anchor,' 
I'll  point  out  to  you  sunthin'  a  hundred  thousand  million  times 
wus.     What  was  the  name  o'  that  English  admiral  folks  made  such 


''P"'w»www^nTW*WfWWI»wpw»»- 


;   i 


l!-    1 


62 


THE  attach6;  OB, 


a  touss  about;  that  cripple-gaited,  one-eyed,  one-armed  little  naval 
critter?" 

"  Do  you  mean  Lord  Nelson  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  he ;  and  pointing  to  his  monument,  he  continued, 
"  There  he  is  as  big  as  life,  five  feet  nothin',  with  his  shoes  on. 
Now,  examine  that  monument,  and  tell  me  if  the  English  don't 
know  how  to  brag,  as  well  as  some  other  folks,  and  whether  they 
don't  brag  too  sumtimes,  when  they  hante  got  no  right  to.  There  is 
four  figures  there  a  representing  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  in 
chains,  and  among  them  America,  a  crouchin'  down,  and  a-beggin* 
for  life,  like  a  mean  heathen  Ingin.  Well,  jist  do  the  civil  now, 
and  tell  me  when  that  little  braggin'  feller  ever  whipped  us,  will 
you  ?  Jist  tell  me  the  day  of  the  year  he  was  ever  able  to  do  it, 
since  his  mammy  cut  the  apron-string  and  let  him  run  to  seek  his 
fortin*.     Heavens  and  airth,  we'd  a  thawed  him  right  up  I 

"  No,  there  never  was  an  ofiicer  among  you  that  had  anything 
to  brag  of  about  us  but  one,  and  he  wasn't  a  Britisher — he  was  a 
despisable  Blue-nose  colonist  boy  of  Halifax.  When  his  captain 
was  took  below  wounded,  he  was  leftenant,  so  he  jist  ups  and  takes 
command  o'  the  *  Shannon,'  and  fit  like  a  tiger  and  took  our  splendid 
frigate  the  » Chesapeake,'  and  that  was  sumthing  to  brag  on.  And 
what  did  he  get  for  it  ?  Why,  colony  sarce,  half-pay,  and  leave  to 
make  room  for  Englishers  to  go  over  his  head  ;  and  here  is  a  Ijiin* 
false  monument,  erected  to  this  man  that  never  see'd  one  of  our  na- 
tional ships,  much  less  smelt  thunder  and  lightning  out  of  one,  that 
English  like,  has  got  this  for  what  he  didn't  do. 

"  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Lett*  is  dead  to  Canada,  or  I'd  give  him  a  hint 
about  this.  I'd  say,  '  I  hope  none  of  our  free  and  enlightened  citi- 
zens will  blow  this  lyin*,  swaggerin',  bullyin*  monument  up  ?  I 
should  be  sorry  for  'em  to  take  notice  of  such  vulgar  insolence  as 
this ;  for  bullies  will  brag,*  He'd  wink  and  say,  *  I  won't  non- 
concur with  you,  Mr.  Slick.  I  hope  it  won't  be  blowed  up ;  but 
wishes,  like  dreams,  come  contrary  ways  sometimes,  and  I  shouldn't 
much  wonder  if  it  bragged  till  it  bust  some  night.'  It  would  go  for 
it,  that's  a  fact  For  Mr.  Lett  has  a  kind  of  nateral  genius  for 
blowin*  up  of  monuments. 

"  Now  you  talk  of  our  Eagle  takin*  an  anchor  in  its  claws  as  bad 
taste.  I  won't  say  it  isn't ;  but  it  is  a  nation  sight  better  nor  this. 
See  what  the  little  admiral  critter  is  about !  Why,  he  is  a  stampin' 
and  a  jabbin'  of  the  iron  heel  of  his  boot  into  the  lifeless  body  of  a 
fallen  foe !  It's  horrid  disgustin',  and  ain't  overly  brave  nother ; 
and  to  make  matters  wus,  as  if  this  warn't  bad  enough,  them  four 
emblem  figures  have  great  heavy  iron  chains  on  *em,  and  a  great 

*  This  was  the  man  that  blew  up  the  Brock  monument  in  Canada.  Ht  was 
a  Patriot. 


1  f 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


as 


enormous  sneezer  of  a  lion  has  one  part  o'  the  chain  in  his  mouth 
and  is  a-growlin'  and  a-grinnin'  and  a-snarlin'  at  'em  like  mad,  as 
much  as  to  say,  *  if  you  dare  to  move  the  sixteen  hundredth  part 
of  an  inch,  I  will  fall  to  and  make  mince-meat  of  you  in  less  than 
half  no  time.'  I  don't  think  there  never  was  nothin'  so  bad  as  this, 
ever  seen  since  the  days  of  old  daddy  Adam  down  to  this  present 
blessed  day — I  don't,  indeed.  So  don't  come  for  to  go,  Squire,  to 
tamt  me  with  the  Eagle  and  the  anchor  no  more,  for  I  don't  like  it 
a  bit;  you'd  better  look  to  your  ^Nekon  monument^  and  let  us  alone. 
So  come,  now !" 

Amidst  much  that  was  coarse,  and  more  that  was  exaggerated, 
there  was  still  some  foundation  for  the  remarks  of  the  Attache. 

"  You  arrogate  a  little  too  much  to  yourselves,"  I  observed,  "  in 
considering  the  United  States  as  all  America.  At  the  time  these 
brilliant  deeds  were  achieved,  which  this  monument  is  intended  to 
commemorate,  the  Spaniards  owned  a  very  much  greater  portion  of 
the  transatlantic  continent  than  you  now  do,  and  their  navy  com- 
posed a  part  of  the  hostile  fleets  which  were  destroyed  by  Lord  Nelson. 
At  that  time,  also,  you  had  no  navy,  or  at  all  events,  so  few  ships, 
as  scarcely  to  deserve  the  name  of  one  ;  nor  had  you  won  for  your- 
selves that  high  character,  which  you  now  so  justly  enjoy,  for  skill 
and  gallantry.  I  agree  with  you,  however,  in  thinking  the  monu- 
ment is  in  bad  taste.  The  name  of  Lord  Nelson  is  its  own  monu- 
ment. It  will  survive  when  these  perishable  structures,  which  the 
pride  or  the  gratitude  of  his  countrymen  have  erected  to  perpetuate 
his  fame,  shall  have  mouldered  into  dust,  and  been  forgotten  for 
ever.  If  visible  objects  are  thought  necessary  to  suggest  the  men- 
tion of  his  name  oftener  than  it  would  otherwise  occur  to  the  mind, 
they  should  be  such  as  to  improve  the  taste,  as  well  as  awaken  the 
patriotism  of  the  beholder.  As  an  American,  there  is  nothing  to 
which  you  have  a  right  to  object ;  but  as  a  critic,  I  admit  that  there 
is  much  that  you  cannot  approve  in  the '^e&ow  JWonwrnew^' " 


CHAPTER   XI 

COTTAGES. 

On  the  tenth  day  after  we  landed  at  Liverpool,  we  arrived  in 
London  and  settled  ourselves  very  comfortably  in  lodgings  at  No. 
202,  Piccadilly,  where  every  possible  attention  was  paid  to  us  by 
our  landlord  and  his  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weeks.  We  performed 
the  journey  in  a  post-chaise,  fearing  that  the  rapid  motion  of  a 
rail-car  might  have  an  unpleasant  effect  upon  the  health  of  Mr. 
Hopewell. 


!T 


ivmiwqHi^iqjpi  111  14 III  iiMnv««n9*f>m>iin 


64 


THE  ATTACU6;   OR, 


Of  the  little  incidents  of  travel  that  occurred  to  us,  or  of  the  va- 
rious objects  of  attraction  on  the  route,  it  is  not  my  intention  to 
give  any  account.  Our  journey  wlis  doubtless  much  like  the  joup- 
neya  of  other  people,  and  everything  of  local  interest  is  to  be  found 
in  Guide  Books,  or  topographical  works,  which  are  within  the  reach 
of  everybody. 

This  book,  however  imperfect  its  execution  may  be,  is  altogether 
of  another  kind.  I  shall  therefore  pass  over  this  and  other  subse- 
quent journeys,  with  no  other  remark,  than  that  they  were  per- 
formed, until  something  shall  occur  illustrative  of  the  objects  I  have 
in  view. 

On  this  occasion  I  shall  select  from  my  diary  a  description  of  the 
laborers'  cottage,  and  the  parish  churcli ;  because  the  one  shows  the 
habits,  tastes,  and  condition  of  the  poor  of  this  country,  in  contrast 
with  that  of  America — and  the  otht>r,  the  relative  means  of  religious 
instruction,  and  its  effect  on  the  lower  orders. 

On  the  Saturday  morning,  while  preparing  to  resume  our  jour- 
ney, which  was  now  nearly  half  completed,  Mr.  Hopewell  expressed 
a  desire  to  remain  at  the  inn  where  we  were,  until  the  following 
Monday.  As  the  day  was  fii>e,  he  said  he  should  like  to  ramble 
about  the  neighborhood,  and  enjoy  the  fresh  air.  His  attention  was 
soon  drawn  to  some  very  beautiful  new  cottages. 

"  These,"  said  he,  "  art"  no  doubt  erected  at  the  expense,  and 
for  the  gratification  of  some  great  landed  proprietor.  They  are  not 
the  abodes  of  ordinary  laborers,  but  designed  for  some  favorite  de- 
pendant or  aged  servant.  They  are  expensive  toys,  but  still  they 
are  not  without  their  use.  They  diffuse  a  taste  among  the  peasan- 
try— they  present  them  with  models,  which,  though  they  cannot 
imitate  in  costliness  of  material  or  finish,  they  can  copy  in  arrange- 
ment, and  in  that  sort  of  decoration  which  flowers,  and  vines,  and 
culture,  and  care  can  give.  Let  us  seek  one  which  is  peculiarly  the 
poor  man's  cottage,  and  let  us  go  in  and  see  who  and  what  they  are, 
how  they  live,  and  above  all,  how  they  think  and  talk.  Here  is  a 
lane — let  us  follow  it,  till  we  come  to  a  habitation." 

We  turned  into  a  grass  road,  bounded  on  either  side  by  a  high 
straggling  thorn  hedge.  At  its  termination  was  an  irregular  cottage 
with  a  thatclied  roof,  which  projected  over  the  windows  in  front. 
The  latter  were  latticed  with  diamond-shaped  panes  of  glass,  and 
were  four  in  number,  one  on  eaeli  side  of  the  dpor,  and  two  just 
under  the  roof.  The  door  was  made  of  two  transverse  parts,  the 
upper  half  of  which  was  open.  On  one  side  was  a  basket-like  cage 
containing  a  magpie,  and  on  the  other,  a  cat  lay  extended  on  a 
bench,  dozing  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun.  The  blue  smoke,  curling 
upwards  from  a  crooked  chimney,  afforded  proof  of  some  one  being 
within. 

We  therefore  opened  a  little  gate,  and  proceeded  through  a  neat 


SAM   SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


65 


psinleri,  in  which  flowers  and  vegetables  were  intermixed.  It  had 
a  {?!iy  appearance  from  the  pear,  apple,  thorn  and  cherry  being  all 
in  lull  bloom.  We  were  received  at  the  door  by  a  middle-aged 
woman,  with  the  ruddy  glow  of  health  on  her  cheeks,  and  dressed 
in  coarse,  plain,  but  remarkably  neat  and  suitable,  attire.  As  this 
was  a  cottage  selected  at  random,  and  visited  without  previous  inti- 
mation of  our  intention,  I  took  particular  notice  of  everything  I 
saw,  because  I  regarded  its  appearance  as  a  fair  specimen  of  its 
constant  and  daily  slate. 

Mr.  Hopewell  needed  no  introduction.  His  appearance  told 
what  he  was.  His  great  stature  and  erect  bearing,  his  intelligent 
and  amiable  face,  his  noble  forehead,  his  beautiful  snow-white 
locks,  his  precise  and  antique  dress,  his  simplicity  of  manner,  every- 
thing, in  short,  about  him,  at  once  attracted  attention  and  conciliated 
favor. 

Mrs.  Hodgins,  for  such  was  her  name,  received  us  with  that  mix- 
ture of  respect  and  ease,  which  showed  she  was  accustomed  to  con- 
verse with  her  superiors.  She  was  dressed  in  a  blue  homespun 
gown  (the  sleeves  of  which  were  drawn  up  to  her  elbows,  and  the 
lower  part  tucked  through  her  pocket-hole),  a  black  stuff  petticoat, 
black  stockings,  and  shoes  with  the  soles  more  than  half  an  inch 
thick.  She  wore  also  a  large  white  apron,  and  a  neat  and  by  no 
means  unbecoming  cap.  She  informed  us  her  husband  was  a  gar- 
denei*'s  laborer,  that  supported  his  family  by  his  daily  work,  and  by 
the  proceeds  of  the  little  garden  attached  to  the  house,  and  invited 
us  to  come  in  and  sit  down. 

The  apartment  into  which  the  door  opened  was  a  kitchen  or 
common  room.  On  one  side  was  a  large  fire-place,  the  mantel- 
piece or  shelf  of  which  was  filled  with  brass  candlesticks,  large  and 
small,  some  queer  old-fashioned  lamps,  snuffers  and  trays,  polished 
to  a  degree  of  brightness  that  was  dazzling.  A  dresser  was  carried 
round  the  wall,  filled  with  plates  and  dishes,  and  underneath  were 
exhibited  the  ordinary  culinary  utensils,  in  excellent  order.  A  small 
table  stood  before  the  fire,  with  a  cloth  of  spotless  whiteness  spread 
upon  it,  as  if  in  preparation  for  a  meal.  A  few  stools  completed  the 
furniture. 

Passing  through  this  place,  we  were  shown  into  the  parlor,  a 
small  room  with  a  sanded  floor.  Against  the  sides  were  placed 
some  old,  dark,  and  highly-polished  chairs,  of  antique  form  and 
rude  workmanship.  The  walls  were  decorated  with  several  colored 
prints,  illustrative  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  hung  in  small  red 
frames  of  about  six  inches  square.  The  fire-place  was  filled  with 
moss,  and  its  mantel-shelf  had  its  china  sheep  and  shepherdesses, 
and  a  small  looking-glass,  the  whole  being  surmounted  by  a  gun 
hung  transversely.  The  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Ten  Command- 
ments worked  in  worsted,  were  suspended  in  a  wooden  frame  be- 


66 


THE  ATTACH^;   OK, 


tween  the  windows,  which  hnd  white  muslin  blinds,  and  opened  on 
hinges,  like  a  door.  A  cupboard  made  to  Jit  the  corner,  in  a  man- 
ner to  economize  room,  was  filled  with  china  mugs,  cups  and  saucers 
of  different  sizes  and  patterns,  some  old  tea-spoons  and  a  plated 
tea-pot. 

There  was  a  small  table  opposite  to  the  window,  which  contained 
half  a  dozen  books.  One  of  these  was  large,  handsomely  bound, 
and  decorated  with  gilt-edged  paper.  Mr.  Hopewell  opened  it, 
and  expressed  great  satisfaction  at  fiiiding  such  an  edition  of  a  Bible 
in  such  a  house.  Mrs.  Hodgins  explained  that  this  was  a  present 
from  her  eldest  son,  who  had  thus  appropriated  his  first  earnings  to 
the  gratification  of  his  mother. 

"  Creditable  to  you  both,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell :  "  to  you, 
because  it  is  a  proof  how  well  you  have  instructed  him  ;  and  to  him, 
that  he  so  well  appreciated  and  so  faithfully  remembered  those  les- 
eons  of  duty." 

He  then  inquired  into  the  state  of  her  family,  whether  the  boy 
who  was  training  a  peach-tree  against  the  end  of  the  house  was 
her  son,  and  many  other  matters  not  necessary  to  record  with  the 
same  precision  that  I  have  enumerated  the  furniture. 

"  Oh,  here  is  a  pretty  little  child  !"  said  he.  "  Come  here,  dear, 
and  shake  hands  along  with  me.  What  beautiful  hair  she  has  I 
and  she  looks  so  clean  and  nice,  too.  Everything  and  everybody 
here  is  so  neat,  so  tidy,  and  so  appropriate.  Kiss  me,  dear ;  and 
then  talk  to  me  ;  for  1  love  little  children.  '  Suffer  them  to  come 
unto  me,'  said  our  Master,  'for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  :* 
that  is,  that  we  should  resemble  these  little  ones  in  our  inno- 
cence." 

He  then  took  her  on  his  knee.  "  Can  you  say  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
dear?" 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  Very  good.    And  the  Ten  Commandments .'"' 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

«  Who  taught  you  ?" 

"  My  mother.  Sir ;  and  the  parson  taught  me  the  Catechism." 

"  Why,  Sam,  this  child  can  say  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments, and  the  Catechism.  Ain't  this  beautiiul?  Tell  me  the 
fifth,  dear." 

And  the  child  repeated  it  distinctly  and  accurately. 

"  Right.  Now,  dear,  always  bear  that  in  mind,  especially  towards 
your  mother.  You  have  an  excellent  mother ;  her  cares  and  her  toils 
are  many ;  and  amidst  them  all,  how  well  she  has  done  her  duty  to 
you.  The  only  way  she  can  be  repaid,  is  to  find  that  you  are  what 
she  desires  you  to  be,  a  good  girl.  God  commands  this  return  to  be 
made,  and  offers  you  the  reward  of  length  of  days.  Here  is  a  piece 
of  money  for  you.    And  now,  dear,"  placing  her  again  upon  her  feet, 


8A]if  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


6T^ 


«  you  never  saw  so  old  a  man  as  me,  and  never  will  again ;  and  one, 
too,  that  came  iVom  a  far-otF  country,  three  thousand  miles  off;  it 
would  take  you  a  long  time  to  count  three  thousand ;  it  is  so  far. 
Whenever  you  do  what  you  ought  not,  think  of  the  advice  of  the 
*old  Minister.'" 

Here  Mr.  Slick  beckoned  the  mother  to  the  door,  and  whispered 
something  to  her,  of  which  the  only  words  that  met  my  ear  were 
"  a  trump,"  "  a  brick,"  "  the  other  man  like  him  ain't  made  yet,"  "  do 
it,  he'll  talk,  then." 

To  which  she  replied,  "  I  have— oh  yes.  Sir — by  all  means." 

She  then  advanced  to  Mr.  Hopewell,  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
like  to  smoke. 

"  Indeed  I  would,  dear,  but  I  have  no  pipe  here." 

She  said  her  old  man  smoked  of  an  evening,  after  his  work  was 
done,  and  that  she  could  give  him  a  pipe  and  some  tobacco,  if  he 
would  condescend  to  use  them ;  and  going  to  the  cupboard,  she  pro- 
duced a  long  white  clay  pipe  and  some  cut  tobacco. 

Having  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  Mr.  Hopewell  said,  "  What 
church  do  you  go  to,  dear  ?" 

"  The  parish  church.  Sir." 

"  Right ;  you  will  hear  sound  doctrine  and  good  morals  preached 
there.  Oh,  this  is  a  fortunate  country,  Sam,  for  the  state  provides  for 
the  religious  instruction  of  the  poor.  Where  the  voluntary  system 
prevails,  the  poor  have  to  give  from  their  poverty,  or  go  without ; 
and  their  gifts  are  so  small,  that  they  can  purchase  but  little.  It's  a 
beautiful  system,  a  charitable  system,  a  Christian  system.  Who  is 
your  landlord?" 

"  Squire  Merton,  Sir ;  and  one  of  the  kindest  masters,  too,  that 

ever  was.     He  is  so  good  to  the  poor ;  and  the  ladies,  Sir,  they  are 

gSo  kind,  also.     When  my  poor  daughter  Mary  was  so  ill  with  the 

ever,  I  do  think  she  would  have  died  but  for  the  attentions  of  those 

jng  In  les;  >u. .  when  she  grew  better,  they  sent  her  wine  and 

M  '  ^  things  from  their  own  table.  They  will  be  so  glad  to  see 
1  r,  at  the  Pi    ry.     Oh,  I  wish  you  could  see  them  I" 

iliere  it  is,  Suiii,"  he  continued :  "  That  illustrates  what  I  always 
toiu  you  c  [heir  social  system  here.  We  may  boast  of  our  indepen- 
dence, bu  that  independence  produces  isolation.  There  is  an  indi- 
viduality about  every  man  an'  every  family  in  America,  that  gives 
no  right  of  inquiry,  and  imposes  no  duty  of  relief  on  any  one.  Sick- 
ness, and  sorrow,  and  trouble,  are  not  divulged ;  joy,  success,  and 
happiness  are  not  imparted.  If  we  are  independent  in  our  thoughts 
and  actions,  so  are  we  left  to  sustain  the  burden  of  our  own  ills. 
How  applicable  to  our  state  that  passage  of  Scripture,  *  The  heart 
knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  a  stranger  intermeddleth  not  with 
its  joy.' 

"  Now,  look  at  this  poor  family ;  here  is  a  clergyman  provided 


68 


TUE   ATTACH^;   OK, 


'!i 


for  them,  whom  they  do  not,  and  are  not  even  expected  to  pay ; 
their  spiritual  wants  are  ministered  to,  faithfully  and  zealously,  as  we 
8ee  by  the  instruction  of  that  little  child.  Here  is  a  friend  upon 
whom  they  can  rely  in  their  hour  of  trouble,  as  the  bereaved  mother 
did  on  Elisha.  '  And  she  went  up  and  laid  her  child  that  was  dead 
on  the  bed  of  the  man  of  God,  and  shut  the  door  on  him,  and  went 
out.*  And  when  a  long  train  of  agitation,  mis-govemraent,  and  ill- 
digested  changes  have  deranged  this  happy  country,  as  has  recently 
been  the  case,  here  is  an  indulgent  landlord,  disposed  to  lower  his 
rent  or  give  further  time  for  payment,  or  if  sickness  invades  any  of 
these  cottages,  to  seek  out  the  sufferer,  to  Piford  the  remedies,  and 
by  his  countenance,  his  kindness,  and  advice,  to  alleviate  their  trou- 
bles. Here  it  is,  a  positive  duty  arising  from  their  relative  situa- 
tions of  landlord  and  tenant.  The  tenants  support  the  owner,  the 
landlord  protects  the  tenants :  the  duties  are  reciprocal. 

"  With  us  the  duties,  as  far  as  Christian  duties  can  be  said  to  be 
optional,  are  voluntary ;  and  the  voluntary  discharge  of  duties,  like 
the  voluntary  support  of  religion,  we  know,  from  sad  experience,  to 
be  sometimes  imperfectly  performed,  at  others  intermitted,  and  often 
wholly  neglected.  Oh !  it  is  a  happy  country  this,  a  great  and  a 
good  country ;  and  how  base,  ho'.v  *vicked,  how  diabolicrj  it  is  to  try 
to  set  such  a  family  as  this  against  their  best  friends,  their  pastor  and 
their  landlord ;  to  instil  dissatisfaction  and  distrust  into  their  simple 
minds,  and  to  teach  them  to  loathe  the  hand  that  proffers  nothing  but 
regard  or  relief.     It  is  shocking,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  often  say,  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Hodgiws,  "  to  my  old 
man,  to  keep  away  from  them  Chartists." 

"  Chartists !  dear,  who  are  they?    I  never  heard  of  them." 

"  Why,  Sir,  they  are  the  men  that  want  the  five  pints." 

"  Five  pints !  why  you  don't  say  so  ;  oh !  they  are  bad  men,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.  Five  pints !  why  that  is  two  quarts  and  a 
half;  that  is  too  much  to  di'ink  if  it  was  water ;  and  if  anything  else, 
it  is  beastly  drunkenness.     Have  nothing  to  do  with  them." 

"  Oh !  no,  Sir,  it  is  five  points  of  law." 

"  Tut — tut — tut !  what  have  you  got  to  do  with  law,  my  dear  ?" 

"  By  gosh.  Aunty,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  you  had  better  not  cut  tliat 
pie :  you  will  find  it  rather  sour  in  the  apple  sarce,  and  tough  in  the 
paste,  I  tell  yow." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  she  replied,  "  but  they  are  a  unsettling  of  his  mind. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  for  J  don't  like  these  night  meetings,  and  he  always 
comes  home  from  'em  cross  and  sour-like." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  I  wish  I 
could  see  him ;  but  I  can't,  for  I  am  bound  on  a  journey.  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  it,  dear.  Sam,  this  country  is  so  beautiful,  so  highly  culti- 
vated, so  adorned  by  nature  and  art,  and  contains  so  much  comfort 
and  happin.56s,  that  it  resembles  almost  the  garden  of  Eden.    But, 


s 


illl. 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


69 


Sam,  the  Serpent  is  here,  the  Serpent  is  here  beyond  a  doubt.  It 
changes  its  shape,  and  alters  its  name,  and  takes  a  new  color,  but 
still  it  is  the  Serpent,  and  it  ought  to  be  crushed.  Sometimes  it  calls 
itself  liberal,  then  radical,  then  chartist,  then  agitator,  then  repealer, 
then  political  dissenter,  then  anti-corn  leaguer,  and  so  on.  Some- 
times it  stings  the  clergy,  and  coils  round  them,  and  almost  strangles 
them,  for  it  knows  the  Church  is  its  greatest  enemy,  and  it  is  furious 
against  it.  Then  it  attacks  the  peers,  and  covers  them  with  its  froth 
and  slaver,  and  then  it  bites  the  landlord.  Then  it  changes  form, 
and  shoots  at  the  Queen,  or  her  ministers,  and  sets  lire  to  buildings, 
and  burns  up  com  to  increase  disireas ;  and,  when  hunted  away,  it 
dives  down  into  the  collieries,  or  visits  the  manufactories,  and  mad- 
dens the  people,  and  urges  them  on  to  plunder  and  destruction.  It's 
a  melancholy  thing  to  think  of;  but  he  is  as  of  old,  alive  and  active, 
seeing  whom  he  can  allure  and  deceive,  and  whoever  listens  is  ruined 
for  ever. 

"  Stay,  dear,  I'll  tel'  •-  ^u  what  I  will  do  for  you.  I'll  inquire  about 
these  Chartists;  and  \.  len  I  go  to  London,  I  will  write  a  .little  tract 
so  plain  that  any  child  may  read  it  and  understand  it ;  and  call  it 
The  C'  yrtist,  and  get  it  printed,  and  I  will  send  you  one  "for  your 
imsbai  i,  and  two  or  three  others,  to  give  to  those  whom  they  may 

I  benefit. 

"  And  now,  dear,  I  must  go.    You  and  I  will  never  meet  again  in 

Ithij  world;  but  I  shall  often  think  of  you,  and  often  speak  of  you. 
I  shall  tell  my  people  of  the  comforts,  of  the  neatness,  of  the  beauty 
of  an  English  cottage.  May  God  bless  you,  and  so  regulate  your 
mind  as  to  preserve  in  you  a  reverence  for  his  holy  word,  an  obedi- 
ence to  the  commands  of  your  Spiritual  Pastor,  and  a  respect  for  all 

[that  are  placed  in  authority  over  you !" 

"  Well,  it  is  pretty,  too,  is  this  cottajr^,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  as  we 
BtroUed  back  to  the  inn,  "  but  the  handsu^nestest  thing  is  to  hear  that 

Igood  old  soul  talk  dictionary  that  way,  aint  it  ?  How  nateral  he  is ! 
Guess  they  don't  often  see  such  a  'postle  as  that  in  these  diggins. 
Yes,  it's  pretty  is  this  cottage ;  but  it's  small,  arter  all.  You  feel 
like  a  squirrel  in  a  cage,  in  it ;  you  have  to  run  round  and  round, 
and  don't  go  forward  none.  What  would  a  man  do  with  a  rifle 
here  ?  For  my  part,  I  have  a  taste  for  the  wild  woods ;  it  comes  on 
me  regular  in  the  fall,  like  the  lake  fever,  and  I  up  gun,  and  off  for 
a  week  or  two,  and  camp  out,  and  get  a  snuff  of  the  spruce-wood  air, 
and  a  good  appetite,  and  a  bit  of  fresh  ven'son  ^o  sup  on  at  nigh^. 

"  I  shall  be  off  to  the  highlands  this  fall ;  but,  cuss  'em,  they  hante 
got  no  woods  there ;  nothin'  but  heather,  and  that's  only  high  enough 
to  tear  your  clothes.  That's  the  reason  the  Scotch  don't  wear  no 
breeches,  they  don't  like  to  get  *em  ragged  up  that  way  for  everlast- 
inly,  they  can't  aftbrd  it ;  so  they  let  em  scratch  and  tear  their  skin, 
for  that  will  grow  agin,  and  trowsers  won't. 


il 


-M  f 


I, 


P 


i 


l\ 


!» 


70 


THE  ATTACH^:;   OB, 


"  Yes,  it's  a  pretty  cotta^^e  that,  and  a  nice  tidy  body  that  too,  is 
Mrs.  Ilodgins.  I've  seen  the  time  when  I  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  have  been  so  well  housed  as  that.  There  is  some  little  dif- 
ference atween  that  cottage  and  a  log  hut  of  a  poor  back  emigrant 
settler,  you  and  I  knojvr  where.  Did  ever  I  tell  you  of  the  night  I 
spent  at  Lake  Teal,  with  old  Judge  Sandford?" 

"  No,  not  that  I  recollect." 

"  Well,  once  upon  a  time  I  was  a-goin'  from  Mill-bridge  to  Shad- 
brooke,  on  a  little  matter  of  bisness,  and  an  awful  bad  and  lonely 
road  it  was,  too.  There  was  scarcely  no  settlers  in  it,  and  the  road 
was  all  made  of  sticks,  stones,  mud  holes,  and  broken  bridges.  It 
was  een  amost  onpassible,  and  who  should  I  overtake  on  the  way 
but  the  Judge,  and  his  guide,  on  horseback,  and  Lawyer  Traverse 
a-joggin'  along  in  his  gig,  at  the  rate  of  two  miles  an  hour  at  the 
fardest. 

" '  Mornin,'  sais  the  Judge,  for  he  was  a  sociable  man,  and  had  a 
kind  word  for  everybody,  had  the  Judge.  Few  men  know'd  human 
natur'  better  nor  he  did,  and  what  he  used  to  call  the  philosophy  of 
life.  *  I  am  glad  to  see  you  on  the  road,  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he, '  for  it 
is  so  bad  I  am  afraid  there  are  places  that  will  require  our  united 
efforts  to  pass  'em.' 

"  Well,  I  felt  kinder  sorry  for  the  delay  too,  for  I  know'd  we  should 
make  a  poor  journey  on't,  on  account  of  that  lawyer  critter's  gig, 
that  hadn't  no  more  busness  on  that  rough  track  than  a  steam- 
engine  had.  But  I  see'd  the  Judge  wanted  me  to  stay  company, 
and  help  him  along,  and  so  I  did.  He  was  fond  of  a  joke,  was  the 
old  Judge,  and  sais  he : 

" '  I'm  afraid  we  shall  illustrate  that  passage  o'  Scriptur',  Mr. 
Slick,'  said  he,  "And  their  judges  shall  be  overthrown  in  stony 
places."     *  It's  jist  a  road  for  it,  ain't  it  ?* 

"  Well  we  chattered  along  the  road  this  way  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle 
faster  than  we  travelled,  lor  we  made  a  snail's  gallop  of  it,  that's  a 
fact ;  and  night  overtook  us,  as  I  suspected  it  would,  at  Obi  Rafuse's, 
at  the  Great  Lake ;  and  as  it  was  the  only  public  for  fourteen  miles, 
and  dark  was  settin'  in,  we  dismounted,  but  oh,  what  a  house  it  was ! 

"  Obi  was  an  emigrant,  and  those  emigrants  are  ginerally  so  fond 
of  ownin'  the  soil,  that  like  misers,  they  carry  as  much  of  it  about 
'era  on  their  parsons,  in  a  common  way,  as  they  cleverly  can.  Some 
on  'em  ai*e  awful  dirty  folks,  that's  a  fact,  and  Obi  was  one  of  them. 
He  kept  public,  did  Obi ;  the  sign  said  it  was  a  house  of  entertain- 
ment tor  man  and  beast.  For  critters  that  ain't  human,  I  do  sup- 
pose it  spoke  the  truth,  for  it  was  enough  to  make  a  boss  larf,  if  he 
could  understand  it,  that's  a  fact ;  but  dirt,  wretchedness  and  rags, 
don't  have  that  effect  on  me. 

"  The  house  was  built  of  rough  spruce  logs,  f*^  e  only  thing  spruce 
about  it)  with  the  bark  on,  and  the  cracks  ai     seams  was  stuffed 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


71 


ly  that  too,  is 
given  a  good 
)me  little  dif- 
ick  emigrant 
f  the  night  I 


ige  to  Shad- 
i  and  lonely 
and  the  road 
bridges.  It 
on  the  way 
er  Traverse 
hour  at  the 

n,  and  had  a 
ow'd  human 
hilosophy  of 
is  he, '  lor  it 
e  our  united 

'd  we  should 
jritter's  gig, 
n  a  steam- 
7  company, 
ke,  was  the 

riptur',  Mr. 
n  in  stony 

ist  a  leetle 
it,  that's  a 
)i  liafuse's, 
teen  miles, 
ise  it  was ! 
ly  so  fond 
of  it  about 
in.    Some 
e  of  them, 
entertain- 
I  do  sup- 
larf,  if  he 
and  rags, 

ng  spruce 
IS  stuffed 


with  moss.  The  roof  was  made  of  coarse  slabs,  battened  and  not 
shingled,  and  the  chimbly  peeped  out  like  a  black  pot,  made  of  sticks 
and  mud,  the  way  a  crow's  nest  is.  The  winders  were  half  broke 
out,  aiiu  slopped  up  with  shingles  and  old  clothes,  and  a  great  bank 
of  mud  and  straw  all  round,  reached  half  way  up  to  the  roof,  to  keep 
the  frost  out  of  the  cellar.  It  looked  like  an  old  hat  on  a  dung  heap. 
I  pitied  the  old  Judge,  because  he  was  a  man  that  took  the  world  as 
he  found  it,  and  made  no  complaints.  He  know'd  if  you  got  the 
best,  it  was  no  use  complainin'  that  the  best  wam't  good. 

"  Well,  the  house  stood  alone  in  the  middle  of  a  clearin',  without 
an  outhouse  of  any  sort  or  kind  about  it,  or  any  fence  or  enclosure, 
but  jist  rose  up  as  a  toodstool  grows,  all  alone  in  the  field.  Close 
behind  it  was  a  thick  short  second  growth  of  young  birches,  about 
fifteen  feet  high,  which  was  the  only  shelter  it  had,  and  that  was  on 
the  wrong  side,  for  it  was  towards  the  south. 

"  Well,  when  we  alighted,  and  got  the  baggage  off,  away  starts  the 
guide  with  the  Judge's  traps,  and  ups  a  path  through  th'^  woods  to 
a  settler's,  and  leaves  us.  Away  down  by  the  edge  of  the  lake  was 
a  little  barn,  filled  up  to  the  roof  with  grain  and  hay,  and  there  was 
no  standin'  room  or  shelter  in  it  for  the  bosses.  So  the  lawyer 
hitches  his  critter  to  a  tree,  and  goes  and  fetches  up  some  fodder  for 
him,  and  leaves  him  for  the  night,  to  weather  it  as  he  could.  As 
soon  as  he  goes  in,  I  takes  Old  Clay  to  the  barn,  for  it's  a  maxim  of 
mine  always  to  look  out  arter  number  one,  opens  the  door,  and  pulls 
out  sheaf  arter  sheaf  of  grain  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  throws  it  out, 
till  I  got  a  place  big  enough  for  him  to  crawl  in. 

" '  Now,'  sais  I,  '  old  boy,'  as  I  shot  to  the  door  arter  him,  *  if  that 
hole  ain't  big  enough  for  you,  eat  away  till  it  is,  that's  all.' 

"  I  had  hardly  got  to  the  house  afore  the  rain,  that  had  threatened 
all  day,  came  down  like  smoke,  and  the  wind  got  up,  and  it  blew  like 
a  young  hurricane,  and  the  lake  roared  dismal ;  it  was  an  awful 
night,  and  it  was  hard  to  say  which  was  wus,  the  storm  or  the  shelter. 

" '  Of  two  evils,'  sais  I  to  the  lawyer,  '  clioose  the  least.  It  ain't 
a  bad  thing  to  be  well  housed  in  a  night  like  this,  is  it?' 

"  The  critter  groaned,  for  both  cases  was  so  bad  he  did'nt  know 
which  to  take  up  to  defend,  so  he  grinned  horrid  and  said  nothin' ; 
and  it  was  enough  to  make  him  grin  too,  that's  a  fact.  He  looked 
as  if  he  had  got  hold  on  a  bill  o'  pains  and  penalties  instead  of  a  bill 
of  costs  that  time,  you  maj"^  depend. 

"  Inside  of  the  house  was  three  rooms,  the  keepin'  room,  where 
we  was  all  half  circled  round  the  fire,  and  two  sleepin'  rooms  off  of 
it.  One  of  these  Obi  had,  who  was  a-bed,  groanin',  coughin',  and 
turnin'  over  and  over  all  the  time  on  the  creakin'  bedstead  with  pleu- 
risy ;  t'other  was  for  the  judge.  The  loft  was  for  the  old  woman, 
his  mother,  and  the  hearth,  or  anj^  other  soft  place  we  could  find, 
was  allocated  for  lawyer  and  me. 


(  ! 


I- 


iL; 


Ml 


1  I 


IIE 


Rl  f 


72 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


"  What  a  scarecrow  lookin'  critter  old  aunty  was,  wam't  she  ? 
She  was  all  in  rags  and  tatters,  and  though  she  lived  'longside  of 
the  lake  the  best  part  of  her  emigrant  life,  had  never  used  water 
since  she  was  christened.  Her  eyes  were  so  sunk  in  her  head,  tliey 
'  looked  like  two  burnt  holes  in  a  blanket.  Her  hair  was  pushed 
back,  and  tied  so  tight  with  an  eel-skin  behind  her  head,  it  seemed 
to  take  the  hide  with  it.  I  'most  wonder  how  she  ever  shot  to  her 
eyes  to  go  to  sleep.  She  had  no  stockins  on  her  legs,  and  no  heels 
to  her  shoes,  so  she  couldn't  lift  her  feet  up,  for  fear  of  droppin  off 
her  slippers  ;  but  she  just  shoved  and  slid  about  as  if  she  was  on 
ice.  She  had  a  small  pipe  in  her  mouth,  with  about  an  inch  of  a 
stem,  to  keep  her  nose  warm,  and  her  skin  was  so  yaller  and 
wrinkled,  and  hard  and  oily,  she  looked  jist  like  a  dried  smoked  red 
herrin' — she  did,  upon  my  soul. 

"  The  floor  of  the  room  was  blacker  nor  ink,  because  that  is  pale 
sometimes ;  and  the  utensils,  oh,  if  the  fire  didn't  purify  'em  now 
and  ag'in,  all  the  scrubbin'  in  the  world  wouldn't,  they  was  past 
that.  Whenever  the  door  was  opened,  in  run  the  pigs,  and  the  old 
woman  hobbled  round  arter  them,  bangin'  them  with  a  fryin'  pan, 
till  she  seemed  out  6'  breath.  Every  time  she  took  less  and  less 
notice  of  *em,  for  she  was  'most  beat  out  herself,  and  was  busy  a 
gettin'  of  the  tea-kettle  to  bile,  and  it  appeared  to  me  she  was  a- 
goin'  to  give  in  and  let  'em  sleep  with  me  and  the  lawyer,  near  the 
fire. 

"  So  I  jist  puts  the  tongs  in  the  sparklin'  coals  and  heats  the 
eends  on  'em  red  hot,  and  the  next  time  they  comes  in,  I  watches  a 
chance,  outs  with  the  tongs,  and  seizes  the  old  sow  by  the  tail,  and 
holds  on  till  I  singes  it  beautiful.  The  way  she  let  go  ain't  no 
matter,  but  if  she  didn't  yell  it's  a  pity,  that's  all.  She  made  right 
straight  tor  the  door,  dashed  in  atween  old  aunty's  legs,  and  carries 
her  out  on  her  back,  ridin'  straddle-legs  like  a  man,  and  tumbles 
her  head  over  heels  in  the  duck-pond  of  dirty  water  outside,  and 
then  lays  down  alongside  of  her,  to  put  the  fire  out  in  its  tail  and 
cool  itself. 

"Aunty  took  up  the  screamin'  then,  where  the  pig  left  off;  but 
her  voice  wai'n't  so  good,  poor  thing !  she  was  too  old  for  that,  it 
sounded  1  ke  a  cracked  bell ;  it  was  loud  enough,  but  it  warn't  jist 
so  clear.  She  came  in  drippin'  and  cryin'  and  scoldin' ;  she  hated 
water,  and  what  was  wus,  this  water  made  her  dirtier.  It  ran  off' 
of  her  like  a  gutter.  The  way  she  let  out  agin  pigs,  travellers, 
and  houses  of  entertainment,  was  a  caution  to  sinners.  She  vowed 
she'd  stop  public  next  mornin'  and  bile  her  kettle  with  the  sign ; 
folks  might  entertain  themselves  and  be  hanged  to  'em,  for  all  her, 
that  they  might.  Then  she  mounted  a  ladder,  and  goes  up  into 
the  loft  to  change. 

" '  Judge,*  sais  I,  *  I'm  sorry,  too,  I  singed  that  pig's  tail  arter 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


73 


that  fashion,  for  the  smell  of  pork  chops  makes  me  feel  kinder 
hungry  ;  and  if  we  had  'em,  no  soul  could  eat  'em  here  in  such  a 
stye  as  this.  But,  dear  me,'  says  I,  '  you'd  better  move.  Sir ;  tl'.at 
old  woman  is  juicy,  and  I  see  it  a  comin'  through  the  cracks  of  the 
floor  above,  like  a  streak  of  molasses.' 

"  *  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  *  this  is  dreadful.  I  never  saw  anything 
so  bad  before  in  all  this  country  ;  hut  what  can't  be  cured  must  be 
endured,  I  do  suppose.  We  must  only  be  good-natured  and  do  the 
best  we  can,  that's  all.  An  emigrant  house  is  no  plaee  to  stop  at, 
is  it  ?  Tliere  is  a  tin  case,*  sais  he,  *  containin'  a  cold  tongue  and 
some  biscuits,  in  my  portmanter ;  please  to  get  them  out.  You 
must  act  as  butler  to-night,  if  you  please ;  for  I  can't  eat  anything 
that  old  woman  touches.' 

^  So  I  spreads  one  of  his  napkins  on  the  table,  and  gets  out  the 
eatables  ;  and  then  he  produced  a  pocket  pistol,  for  he  was  a  sensi- 
ble man  was  the  judge,  and  we  made  a  small  check,  for  there  warn't 
enough  for  a  feed. 

"  Arter  that,  he  takes  out  a  night-cap,  and  fits  it  on  tight,  and 
then  puts  on  his  cloak,  and  wraps  the  hood  of  it  close  over  his  head, 
and  tbldin'  himself  up  in  it,  he  went  and  laid  down  without  on- 
dressin'.  The  lawyer  took  a  stretch  for  it  on  the  bench,  with  his 
gig  cushions  for  a  pillar,  and  I  makes  up  the  fire,  sits  down  on  the 
chair,  puts  my  legs  up  on  the  jamb,  draws  my  hat  over  my  eyes, 
and  folds  my  arms  for  sleep. 

*^  *  But  fust  and  foremost,*  sais  I,  *  aunty,  take  a  drop  of  the 
strong  waters  :  arter  goin'  the  whole  hog  that  way,  you  must  need 
some  ;'  and  I  poured  her  out  a  stiff  corker  into  one  of  her  mugs, 
put  some  sugar  and  hot  water  to  it,  and  she  tossed  it  off  as  if  slie 
railly  did  like  it. 

"  '  Darn  that  pig,'  said  she,  *  it  is  so  poor,  its  back  is  as  sharp  as 
a  knife.  It  hurt  me  properly,  that's  a  fact,  and  has  most  broke 
my  crupper  bone.'  And  she  put  her  hand  behind  her,  and  moaned 
piteous. 

" '  Pig  skin,'  sais  I,  *  aunty,  is  well  enough  when  made  into  a 
saddle,  but  it  ain't  over  pleasant  to  ride  on  bare  back  that  way,'  sais 
I,  '  is  it  ?  And  them  bristles  ain't  quite  so  soft  as  feathers,  I  do 
suppose.' 

"  I  thought  I  should  a  died  a  holdin'  in  of  a  haw  haw  that  way. 

ifling  a  larf  a'most  stifles  oneself,  that's  a  fact.     I  felt  sorry  for 


Stiflins 


her,  too ;  but  sorrow  won't  always  keep  you  from  larfin',  unless 
you  be  sorry  for  yourself.  So,  as  I  didn't  want  to  oflend  her,  I 
up  legs  again  to  the  jam,  and  shot  my  eyes,  and  tried  to  go  to 
sleep, 

"  Well,  I  can  snooze  through  most  anythin',  but  I  couldn't  get 
much  sleep  that  night.  The  pigs  kept  close  to  the  door,  a  shovia' 
agin  it  every  now  and  then,  to  see  all  was  right  for  a  dash  in,  if  the 


74 


THE   ATTACHE;   OR, 


'   n 


bears  came  ;  and  the  geese  kept  sentry,  too,  agin  the  foxes ;  and 
one  old  feller  would  squake  out  '  all's  well '  eveiy  five  minuts,  as 
he  marched  up  and  down  and  back  agin  on  the  bankan'  of  the  house. 

"  But  the  turkeys  was  the  wust.  They  was  perched  upon  the 
lee  side  of  the  roof,  and  sometimes  an  eddy  of  wind  would  take  a 
feller  right  slap  off  his  legs,  and  send  him  floppin'  and  roUin*  and 
sprawlin'  and  screamin'  down  to  the  ground,  and  then  he'd  make 
most  as  much  fuss  a-gettin'  up  into  line  agin.  They  are  very 
fond  of  straight  lines,  is  turkeys.  I  never  see  an  old  gobbler  with 
his  gorget,  tliat  I  don't  think  of  a  kernel  of  a  marchin*  regiment, 
and  if  you'll  listen  to  him  and  watch  him,  he'll  strut  jist  like  one, 
and  say,  '  Halt !  dress !'  Oh,  he  is  a  military  man,  is  a  turkey- 
cock  :  he  wears  long  spurs,  carries  a  stiff  neck,  and  charges  at  red 
cloth,  like  a  trooper. 

"  Well,  then,  a  little  cowardly  good-nutured  cur,  that  lodged  in  an 
empty  flour  barrel,  near  the  wood  pile,  gave  out  a  long  doleful 
howl,  now  and  agin,  to  show  these  outside  passengers,  if  he  couldn't 
fight  for  'em,  he  could  at  all  events  cry  for  'em,  and  it  ain't  every 
goose  has  a  mourner  to  her  funeral,  that's  a  fact,  unless  it  be  the 
owner. 

"  In  the  mornin'  I  wakes  up,  and  looks  round  for  lawyer,  but  he 
was  gone.  So  I  gathers  up  the  brans,  and  makes  up  the  fire,  and 
walks  out.  The  pigs  didn't  try  to  come  in  agin,  you  may  depend, 
when  Ihey  see'd  me ;  they  didn't  like  the  curlin'  tongs  as  much  as 
some  folks  do,  and  pigs'  tails  kinder  curl  naterally.  But  there  was 
lawyer  a-standin'  up  by  the  grove,  lookin'  as  peeked  and  as  forlorn 
as  an  onmated  loon. 

"  '  What's  the  matter  of  you,  Squire  ?'  sais  I.  *  You  look  like  a 
man  that  was  ready  to  make  a  speech  ;  but  your  witness  hadn't 
come,  or  you  hadn't  got  no  jury.' 

"  '  Somebody  has  stole  my  horse,'  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  know'd  he  was  near-sighted,  was  lawyer,  and  couldn't 
see  a  pint  clear  of  his  nose,  unless  it  was  a  pint  o'  law.  So  I  looks 
all  round,  and  there  was  his  boss,  a-standin'  on  the  bridge,  with  his 
long  tail  hanging  down  straight  at  one  eend,  and  his  long  neck  and 
head  a  hanging  down  straight  at  t'other  eend,  so  that  you  couldn't 
tell  one  from  t'other,  or  which  eend  was  towai'ds  you.  It  was  a 
clear  cold  mornin'.  The  storm  was  over  and  the  wind  down,  and 
there  was  a  frost  on  the  ground.  The  critter  was  cold,  I  suppose, 
and  had  broke  the  rope  and  walked  off  to  stretch  his  legs.  It  was 
a  monstrous  mean  night  to  be  out  in,  that's  sartain. 

"  '  There  is  your  boss,'  sais  I.  » 

"  *  Where  ?'  sais  he. 

" '  Why,  on  the  bridge,'  sais  I ;  '  he  has  got  his  head  down,  and 
is  a-lookin'  atween  his  fore-legs  to  see  where  his  tail  is,  for  he  i?  f» 
cold,  I  do  suppose  he  can't  feel  it.'  -.     , 


U 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


75 


"  Well,  as  soon  as  we  could,  we  started ;  but  afore  we  left,  sais 
the  judge  to  me,  '  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  '  here  is  a  plaister,'  taking 
out  a  pound  note,  '  a  plaister  for  the  skin  the  pig  rubbed  oflF  of  the 
old  woman.  Give  it  to  hei; — I  hope  it  is  big  enough  to  cover  it.' 
And  he  fell  back  op  the  bed,  and  larfed  and  coughed,  and  coughed 
and  larfed,  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  yes,  Squire,  this  is  a  pretty  cottage  of 
Marm  Hodgins  ;  but  we  have  cottages  quite  as  pretty  as  this,  our 
side  of  the  water,  arter  all.  They  are  not  all  like  Obi  Rafuses,  the 
immigrant.  The  natives  have  different  guess  places,  where  you 
might  eat  off  the  floor  a'most,  all's  so  clean.  P'raps  we  hante  the 
hedges,  and  flowers,  and  vines  and  fixin's,  and  what-nots." 

"  Which,  alone,"  I  said,  "  make  a  most  important  difference. 
No,  Mr.  Slick,  there  is  nothing  to  be  compared  to  this  little  cot- 
tage." 

"  I  perfectly  agree  with  you.  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  it  is 
quite  unique.  There  is  not  only  nothing  equal  to  it,  but  nothing 
of  its  kind  at  all  like — an  English  cottage." 


CHAPTER   XII. 


"STEALING    THE    HEARTS    OF    THE     PEOPLE." 

Shortly  after  our  return  to  the  inn,  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  the  cards  of  Mr.  Merton,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Homily,  which 
were  presented  by  the  servant,  were  soon  followed  by  the  gentlemen 
themselves. 

Mr.  Merton  said  he  had  been  informed  by  Mrs.  Hodgins  of  our 
visit  to  her  cottage,  and  from  her  account  of  our  conversation  and 
•persons,  he  was  convinced  we  could  be  no  other  than  the  party  de- 
scribed in  the  "  Sayings  and  Doings  of  Mr.  Samuel  Slick,"  as  about 
to  visit  England  with  the  Attache.  He  expressed  great  pleasure  in 
having  the  opportunity  of  making  our  acquaintance,  and  entreated 
us  to  spend  a  few  days  with  him  at  the  Priory.  This  invitation  we 
were  unfortunately  compelled  to  decline,  in  consequence  of  urgent 
business  in  London,  where  our  immediate  presence  was  indispen- 
sable. 

The  rector  then  pressed  Mr.  Hopewell  to  preach  for  him,  on  the 
following  day,  at  the  parish  church,  which  he  also  declined.  He 
said  that  he  had  no  sermons  with  him,  and  that  he  had  very  great 
objections  to  extemporaneous  preaching,  which  he  thought  should 
never  be  resorted  to  except  in  cases  of  absolute  necessity.    He, 


76 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


I 


I 


■ 


,1  t 


r 


however,  at  last  consented  to  do  so,  on  condition  that  Mrs.  Hodgins 
and  her  husband  attended,  and  upon  being  assured  that  it  was  their 
invariable  custom  to  be  present,  he  said,  he  thought  it  not  impossible, 
that  he  might  make  an  impression  upon  him,  and  as  it  was  his  maxim 
never  to  omit  an  opportunity  of  doing  good,  he  would  with  the  bless- 
ing of  God,  make  the  attempt. 

The  next  day  was  remuikably  fine,  and  as  the  scene  was  new  to 
me,  and  most  probably  will  be  so  to  most  of  my  colonial  readers,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  describe  it  with  some  minuteness. 

We  walked  to  the  church  by  a  path  over  the  hills,  and  heard  the 
bells  of  a  number  of  little  churches,  summoning  the  surrounding 
population  to  the  house  of  God.  The  roads  and  the  paths  were 
crowded  with  the  peasantry  and  their  children,  approaching  the 
churchyard  in  different  directions.  The  church  and  the  rectox'y 
were  contiguous  to  each  other,  and  situated  in  a  deep  dell. 

The  former  was  a  long  and  rather  low  structure,  originally  built 
of  light-colored  stone,  which  had  grown  grey  with  time.  It  had  a 
large  square  steeple,  with  pointed  corners,  like  turrets,  each  of 
which  was  furnished  with  a  vane,  but  some  of  these  ornaments 
were  loose  and  turned  round  in  a  circle,  while  others  stood  still 
and  appeared  to  be  examining  with  true  rustic  curiosity,  the  condi- 
tion of  their  neighbors. 

The  old  rectory  stood  close  to  the  church  and  was  very  irregu- 
larly built ;  one  part  looking  as  if  it  had  stepped  forward  to  take  a 
peep  at  us,  and  another  as  if  endeavoring  to  conceal  itself  from 
view,  behind  a  screen  of  ivy.  The  windows,  which  were  con- 
structed of  diamond-shaped  glass,  were  almost  square,  and  opened 
on  hinges.  Nearly  half  of  the  house  was  covered  by  a  rose-tree 
from  which  the  lattices  peeped  very  inquisitively  upon  the  assem- 
bled congregation.  Altogether,  it  looked  like  the  residence  of  a 
vigilant  man,  who  could  both  see  and  be  unseen  if  he  pleased. 

Near  the  door  of  the  church  were  groups  of  men  in  their  clean 
smock-frocks  and  straw  hats,  and  of  women  in  their  tidy  dark 
dresses  and  white  aprons.  The  children  all  looked  clean^  healthy, 
and  cheerful. 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  so  unlike  that  of  an  American 
one,  that  my  attention  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  its  peculiarities.  It 
was  low,  and  divided  in  the  centre  by  an  arch.  The  floor  was  of 
stone,  and,  from  long  and  constant  use,  very  uneven  in  places. 
The  pews  were  much  higher  on  the  sides  than  ours,  and  were  un- 
painted,  and  roughly  put  together ;  while  the  pulpit  was  a  rude 
square  box,  and  was  placed  in  the  corner.  Near  the  door  stood  an 
ancient  stone  font,  of  rough  workmanship,  and  much  worn. 

The  windows  were  long  and  narrow,  and  placed  very  high  in  the 
walls.  On  the  one  over  the  altar  was  a  very  old  painting,  on  stained 
glass,  of  the  Yirgiu,  with  a  hoop  and  vellow  petticoat^  crimson  vest. 


SAM   SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


77 


illy  built 
It  had  a 
each  of 
naments 
00(1  still 
e  condi- 

irregu- 
take  a 
f  from 
re  con- 
opened 
se-tree 
assem- 
of  a 

clean 
dark 
Jalthj, 

srican 
It 
as  of 
aces, 
e  un- 
rude 
>d  an 

t  the 
ined 
est^ 


a  fly  cap,  and  very  thick  shoes.  The  light  of  this  window  was  still 
further  subdued  by  a  fine  old  yew-tree,  which  stood  in  the  yard  close 
behind  it. 

There  was  another  window  of  beautiful  stained  glass,  the  light  of 
which  fell  on  a  large  monument,  many  feet  square,  of  white  marble. 
In  the  centre  of  this  ancient  and  beautiful  work  of  art,  were  two 
principal  figures,  with  smaller  ones  kneeling  on  each  side,  having 
the  hands  raised  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  They  were  intended  to 
represent  some  of  the  ancestors  of  the  Merton  family.  The  date 
was  as  old  as  1575.  On  various  parts  of  the  wall  were  other  and 
ruder  monuments  of  slate-stone,  the  inscriptions  and  dates  of  which 
were  nearly  effaced  by  time. 

The  roof  was  of  a  construction  now  never  seen  in  America ;  and 
the  old  oak  rafters,  which  were  more  numerous  than  was  requisite, 
either  for  strength  or  ornament,  were  massive  and  curiously  put  to- 
gether, giving  this  part  of  the  building  a  heavy  and  gloomy  appear- 
ance. 

As  we  entered  the  church,  Mr.  Hopewell  said  he  had  selected  a 
text  suitable  to  the  times,  and  that  he  would  endeavor  to  save  the 
poor  people  in  the  neighborhood  from  the  delusions  of  the  chartist 
demagogues,  who,  it  appear«;d,  were  endeavoring  to  undermine  the 
throne  and  the  altar,  and  bring  universal  ruin  upon  the  country. 

When  he  ascended  the  pulpit  to  preach,  his  figure,  his  great  age, 
and  his  sensible  and  benevolent  countenance,  attracted  universal 
attention.  I  had  never  seen  him  officiate  till  this  day  ;  but  if  I  was 
struck  with  his  venerable  appearance  before,  I  was  now  lost  in 
admiration  of  his  rich  and  deep-toned  voice,  his  peculiar  manner, 
and  simple  style  of  eloquence. 

He  took  for  his  text  these  words  :  "  So  Absolom  stole  the  hearts 
of  the  men  of  Israel."  He  depicted,  in  a  very  striking  manner,  the 
arts  of  this  intriguing  and  ungrateful  man  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
the  people,  and  render  the  government  unpopular.  He  traced  his 
whole  course,  from  his  standing  at  the  crowded  thoroughfare,  and 
lamenting  that  the  king  had  deputed  no  one  to  hear  and  decide  upon 
controversies  of  the  people,  to  his  untimely  end,  and  the  destruction 
of  his  ignorant  followers.  He  made  a  powerful  application  of  the 
seditious  words  of  Absalom :  '  Oh  that  /  were  a  judge  in  the  land, 
that  every  man  which  hath  a  suit  or  cause  might  come  unto  me,  and 
/  would  do  him  justice.'  He  showed  the  effect  of  these  empty  and 
wicked  promises  upon  his  followers,  who  in  the  holy  record  of  this 
unnatural  rebellion  as  "  men  who  went  out  in  their  simplicity,  and 
knew  not  anything." 

He  then  said  that  similar  arts  were  used  in  all  ages  for  similar 
purposes  ;  and  that  these  professions  of  disinterested  patriotism  were 
the  common  pretences  by  which  wicked  men  availed  themselves  of 
the  animal  force  of  those  "  who  assemble  in  their  simplicity,  and 


^ 


78 


THE  ATTACHfi;   OB, 


know  not  anything,"  to  achieve  tlieir  own  personal  aggrandisement, 
and  warned  them  to  give  no  heed  to  such  dishonest  people.  He 
then  drew  a  picture  of  the  real  blessings  they  enjoyed  in  this  hai)py 
country,  which,  though  not  without  an  admixture  of  evil,  were  as 
many  and  as  great  as  the  imperfect  and  unequal  condition  of  man 
was  capable  either  of  imparting  or  receiving. 

Among  the  first  of  these,  he  placed  the  provision  made  by  the 
Btate  for  the  instruction  of  the  poor,  by  means  of  an  established 
Church.  He  said  they  would  doubtless  hear  this  wise  and  pious 
deed  of  their  forefathers  attacked  also  by  unprincipled  men  ;  and 
falsehood  and  ridicule  would  be  invoked  to  aid  in  the  assault ;  but 
that  he  was  a  witness  ov  its  behalf,  from  the  distant  wilderness  of 
North  America,  where  the  voice  of  gratitude  was  raised  to  England, 
whose  missionaries  had  planted  a  church  there  similar  to  their  own, 
and  had  proclaimed  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  to  those  who  would 
otherwise  have  still  continued  to  live  without  its  pale. 

He  then  portrayed  in  a  rapid  and  most  masterly  manner  the  sin 
and  the  disastrous  consequences  of  rebellion  ;  pointed  out  the  neces- 
sity that  existed  for  vigilance,  and  defined  their  respective  duties  to 
God,  and  to  those  who,  by  his  permission,  were  set  in  authority  over 
them ;  and  concluded  with  the  usual  benediction,  which,  though  I 
had  heard  it  on  similar  occasions  all  my  life,  seemed  now  more  effi- 
cacious, more  paternal,  and  more  touching  than  ever,  when  uttered 
by  him,  in  his  peculiarly  patriarchal  manner. 

The  abstract  I  have  just  given,  I  regret  to  say,  cannot  convey  any 
adequate  idea  of  this  powerful,  excellent  and  appropriate  sermon. 
It  was  listened  to  with  intense  interest  by  the  congregation,  many  of 
whom  were  affected  to  tears.  In  the  afternoon,  we  attended  church 
again,  when  we  heard  a  good,  plain,  and  practical  discourse  from 
the  rector ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  had  neither  the  talent,  nor  the 
natural  eloquence  of  our  friend,  and,  although  it  satisfied  the  judg- 
ment, it  did  not  affect  the  heart  like  that  of  the  "  Old  Minister." 

At  the  door  we  met,  on  our  return,  Mrs.  Hodgins.  "  Ah !  ray 
dear,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  how  do  you  do  ?  I  am  going  to  your 
cottage ;  but  I  am  an  old  man  now  ;  take  my  arm — it  will  support 
me  in  my  walk." 

It  was  thus  that  this  good  man,  while  honoring  this  poor  woman, 
avoided  the  appearance  of  condescension,  and  received  her  arm  as  a 
favor  to  himself. 

She  commenced  thanking  him  for  his  sermon  in  the  morning. 
She  said  it  had  convinced  her  William  of  the  sin  of  the  Chartist 
agitation,  and  that  he  had  firmly  resolved  never  to  meet  them  again. 
It  had  saved  him  from  ruin,  and  made  her  a  happy  woman. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it  has  done  him  good,  my  dear,"  said  he ;  "  it  does 
me  good,  too,  to  hear  its  effect.  Now,  never  remind  him  of  past 
errors,  never  allude  to  them :  make  his  home  cheerful,  make  it  the 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


79 


plcasantcst  place  he  can  find  any  where,  and  he  won't  want  to  seek 
amusement  elsewhere,  or  excitement  either  ;  for  these  seditioua 
meetings  intoxicate  by  their  excitement.  Oh !  I  am  very  glad  I 
have  touched  him  ;  that  I  have  prevented  these  seditious  men  from 
*  stealing  his  heart.'  " 

In  this  way  they  chatted,  until  they  arrived  at  the  cottage,  which 
Ilodgins  had  just  reached  by  a  shorter,  but  more  rugged  path. 

"  It  is  such  a  lovely  afternoon,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  I  believe  I 
will  rest  in  this  arbor  here  awhile,  and  enjoy  the  fresh  breeze,  and 
the  i)erfume  of  your  honeysuckles  and  flowers." 

"  Wouldn't  a  pipe  be  better.  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  For  my 
part,  I  don't  think  anything  equal  to  the  flavor  of  rael  good  gene- 
wine  first  chop  tobacco." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  great  refreshment,  is  tobacco,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell. 
"  I  d(in't  care  if  I  do  take  a  pipe.  Bring  me  one,  Mr.  Hodgins,  and 
one  Ibr  yourself  also,  and  I  will  smoke  and  talk  with  you  awhile, 
for  they  seem  as  natural  to  each  other  as  eating  and  drinking  do." 

As  soon  as  these  were  produced,  Mr.  Slick  and  I  retired,  and 
requested  Mrs.  Hodgins  to  leave  the  Minister  and  her  husband  to- 
getlier  for  awhile,  lor,  as  Mr.  Slick  observed,  "  The  old  man  will 
talk  it  into  him  like  a  book  ;"  for  "  if  he  was  possessed  of  the  spirit  of 
a  devil,  instead  of  a  Chartist,  he  is  just  the  boy  to  drive  it  out  of 
him.  Let  him  be  awhile,  and  he'll  tame  old  uncle  there,  like  a  cossit 
sheep ;  jest  see  if  he  don't,  that's  all." 

We  then  walked  up  and  down  the  shady  lane,  smoking  our  cigars, 
and  Mr.  Slick  observed,  "  Well,  there  is  a  nation  sight  of  difference, 
too,  ain't  there,  atween  this  country  church  and  a  country  meetin'- 
house  our  side  of  the  water ;  I  won't  say  in  your  country  or  my 
country ;  but  I  say  our  side  of  the  water — and  then  it  won't  rile  no- 
body ;  for  your  folks  will  say  I  mean  the  States,  and  our  citizens 
will  say  I  mean  the  Colonies ;  but  you  and  I  know  who  the  cap  fits, 
one  or  t'  other,  or  both,  don't  we  ? 

"  Now  here,  this  old-fashioned  church,  ain't  quite  up  to  the  notch, 
and  is,  a  leetle  behind  the  enlightenment  of  the  age  like,  with  its 
queer  old  fixin's  and  what  not ;  but  still  it  looks  solemcoly,  don't  it, 
and  the  dim  light  seems  as  if  we  warn't  expected  to  be  lookin'  about, 
and  as  if  outer  world  was  shot  out,  from  sight  and  thort,  and  it 
warn't  man's  house  nother. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  that  dear  old  man's  preachin',  and 
he  is  a  brick,  ain't  he  ?  or,  whether  it's  the  place,  or  the  place  and 
him  together ;  but  somehow,  or  somehow  else,  I  feel  more  serious 
to-day  than  common^  that's  a  fact.  The  people  too  are  so  plain 
dressed,  so  decent,  so  devout,  and  no  show,  it  looks  like  aimest 

"The  only  fashionable  people  here  was  the  Squire's  sarvants; 
and  they  did  look  genteel,  and  no  mistake.  Elegant  men,  and  most 
splendid-lookin'  women  they  was  too.    I  thought  it  was  some  noble, 


7 


80 


TUS  ATTACH^;  OR, 


or  airl's,  or  bif^  bu«f8  family ;  but  Mrs.  Hodgins  says  they  are  the 
people  of  the  Squire's  aboat  here,  the  butlers  and  tlie  ladies'-maids ; 
and  superfine  uppercrust  lookin'  folks  they  be  too. 

"  Then  everybody  walks  here,  even  Squire  Merton  and  his  splen- 
diriferous  galls  walked  like  the  poorest  of  the  poor ;  there  was  no 
carriage  to  the  door,  nor  no  bosses  hitched  to  the  gate,  or  tied  to  the 
ba(!ks  of  waggons,  or  people  gossipin'  outside ;  but  all  come  in  and 
minded  their  business,  as  if  it  was  worth  attendin'  to ;  and  then 
arter  church  was  finished  off,  I  liked  the  way  the  big  folks  talked  to 
the  little  folks,  and  inquired  arter  their  families.  It  may  be  acting 
but  if  it  is,  it's  plaguy  good  actin',  I  tell  you. 

"I'm  a  thinkin'  it  tante  a  rael  gentleman  that's  proud,  bat  only  a 
hop.  You've  seen  a  hop  grow,  hante  you  ?  It  shoots  op  in  a  nighty 
the  matter  of  several  inches  right  out  of  the  ground,  as  stiff  as  a 
poker,  straight  up  and  down,  with  a  spick  and  span  new  green  coat, 
and  a  red  nose,  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  Well,  I  call  all  upstarts, '  hops/ 
and  I  believe  it's  only  '  hops'  arter  all  that's  scorny. 

"  Yes,  I  kinder  like  an  English  country  church,  only  it's  a  leetle, 
jist  a  leetle  too  old-fashioned  for  me.  Folks  look  a  leetle  too  much 
like  grandfather  Slick,  and  the  boys  used  to  laugh  at  him,  and  call 
him  a  benighted  Britisher.  Perhaps  that's  the  cause  of  my  preju- 
dice, and  yet  I  must  say,  British  or  no  British,  it  tante  bad,  is  it  ? 

"  The  meetin'  houses  '  our  side  of  the  water,*  no  matter  where, 
but  away  up  in  the  back  country,  how  teetotally  different  they  be  ! 
beant  they  ?  A  great  big,  handsome  wooden  house,  chock  full  of 
winders,  painted  so  white  as  to  put  your  eyes  out,  and  so  full  of 
light  within,  that  inside  seems  all  out-doors,  and  no  tree  nor  bush, 
nor  nothing  near  it,  but  the  road  fence,  with  a  man  to  preach  in  it, 
that  is  so  strict  and  straight-laced,  that  he  will  do  anjfthing  of  a 
week  day,  and  nothing  of  a  Sunday.  Congregations  are  rigged  out 
in  their  spic  and  span  bran  new  clothes,  silks,  satins,  ribbins,  leg- 
horns, palmetters,  kiss-me-quicks,  and  all  sorts  of  rigs,  and  the  men 
in  their  long-tail  blues,  pig-skin  pads,  calf-skin  boots,  and  sheep- 
skin saddle-cloths.  Here  they  publish  a  book  of  fashions,  there 
they  publish  'em  in  meetin' ;  and  instead  of  a  pictur,  have  the  rael 
naked  truth. 

"  Preacher  there  don't  preach  morals,  because  that's  churchy,  and 
he  don't  like  neither  the  church  nor  its  morals ;  but  he  preaches 
doctrine,  which  doctrine  is,  there's  no  Christians  but  themselves. 
"Well,  the  fences  outside  of  the  meetin'  house,  for  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  or  so,  each  side  of  the  house^  and  each  side  of  the  road,  ain't 
to  be  seen  for  bosses  and  waggons,  and  gigs  hitehed  there ;  poor 
devils  of  bosses  that  have  ploughed,  or  hauled,  or  harrowed,  or 
logged,  or  snaked,  or  somethin'  or  arvOther  all  the  weok,  and  rest  of 
a  Sunday  by  alterin'  their  gait,  as  a  man  rests  on  a  journey  by  a 
alterin'  of  his  stirrup,  a  hole  higher  or  a  hole  lower.    Women  that 


■^issam^tm 


■^-r 


8AM  SlilOK  IN  ENGLAND. 


81 


lejr  are  the 
lies'-maids ; 

1  his  splen- 
ere  was  no 
tied  to  tljo 
ome  in  anil 
;  and  tlicn 
;s  talked  to 
i  be  aetin', 

bat  only  a 
in  a  night, 
3  stiff  as  a 
jreen  coat, 
rts, '  hops/ 

's  a  leetle, 
too  much 
^  and  call 
my  preju- 
d,  is  it  ? 
ter  where, 
they  be ! 
;k  full  of 
3o  full  of 
nor  bush, 
Jach  in  it, 
\mg  of  a 
gged  out 
bins,  leg- 
i  the  men 
id  sheep- 
as,  there 
1  the  rael 

chy,  and 
preaches 
imselves. 
•ter  of  a 
tad,  ain't 
•ej  poor 
'wed,  or 
I  rest  of 
ley  by  a 
(xen  that 


has  all  their  finery  on  can't  walk,  and  some  things  is  ondecent.  It's 
H.s  ondecent  for  a  woman  to  be  seen  walkin'  to  mectin'  as  it  is  to  be 
caiifjlit  at — what  shall  I  say  ? — why,  caught  at  atteudin'  to  her  own 
busincHS  at  home. 

"  The  women  are  the  fust  and  the  last  to  meetin' ;  fine  clothes 
cost  sunthin',  and  if  they  ain't  showed,  what's  the  use  of  them  ? 
The  men  folk  remind  me  of  the  bosses  to  Sable  Island.  It's  a  long 
low  sand-bank  on  Nova  Scotia  coast,  thirty  miles  long  and  better,  is 
Suhlc  Island,  and  not  much  higher  than  the  water.  It  has  awful 
breakers  round  it,  and  picks  up  a  shockin'  sight  of  vessels,  does 
that  island.  Government  keeps  a  super-intender  there  and  twelve 
men  to  save  wracked  people,  and  there  is  a  herd  of  three  hundred 
wild  bosses  kept  there  for  food  for  saved  crews  that  land  there, 
when  provision  is  short,  or  for  super-intender  to  catch  and  break  for 
use,  as  the  case  may  be. 

"  Well,  if  he  wants  a  new  boss,  he  mounts  his  folks  on  his  tame 
bosses,  and  makes  a  dash  into  the  herd,  and  runs  a  wild  feller 
down,  bigs  him  off  to  the  stable-yard,  and  breaks  him  in,  in  no 
time.  A  smart  little  boss  he  is,  too,  but  he  always  has  an  eye  to 
nntur^  arterwards  ;  the  change  is  too  sudden,  and  he'll  off,  if  he  gets 
a  chance. 

"  Now  that's  the  case  with  these  country  congregations,  we  know 
where.  The  women  and  old  tame  men  folk  are  inside  ;  the  young 
wild  boys  and  ontamed  men  folk  are  on  the  fences,  outside,  a  settin* 
on  the  top  rail,  a  speculatin'  on  times  or  marriages,  or  markets,  or 
what  not,  or  a  walkin'  round  and  studyin'  boss  flesh,  or  a  talkin'  of 
a  swap  to  be  completed  of  a  Monday,  or  a  leadin'  off  of  two  bosses 
on  the  sly  of  the  old  deacon's,  takin'  a  lick  of  a  half  mile  on  a  bye 
road,  right  slap  a-head,  and  swearin'  the  bosses  had  got  loose,  and 
they  was  just  a  fetchin'  of  them  back. 

" '  Whose  side-saddle  is  this  ?' 

« *  Slim  Sal  Dowdie's.' 

"  *  Shifl  it  on  to  the  deacon's  beast,  and  put  his  on  to  her*n,  and 
tie  the  two  critters  together  by  the  tail.  This  is  old  Mother 
Pitcher's  waggon ;  her  boss  kicks  like  a  grasshopper.  Lengthen 
the  breechin',  and  when  aunty  starts,  he'll  make  all  fly  agin  into 
shavin's,  like  a  plane.  Who  is  that  a  comin'  along  full  split  there 
a  horseback  ?' 

"'It's  old  Booby's  son,  Tom.  Well,  it's  the  old  man's  shafl 
boss;  call  out  whoh!  and  he'll  stop  short,  and  pitch  Tom  right  over 
his  head  on  the  broad  of  his  back,  whap. 

"  *  Tim  Fish,  and  Ned  Pike,  come  scale  up  here  with  us  boys  on 
the  fence.'  The  weight  is  too  great ;  away  goes  the  fence,  and 
away  goes  the  boys,  all  flyin';  legs,  arms,  bats,  poles,  stakes,  withes, 
and  all,  with  an  awful  crash  and  an  awful  shout ;  and  away  goes 

4* 


II 


.,  i. 


;  li 


!» 


f! 


J 


J 


82 


THB  ATTACHIj;   or, 


two  or  three  hosses  that  have  broke  their  bridles,  and  off  home  like 
wink. 

"  Out  comes  Elder  Sourcrout.  '  Them  as  won't  come  in  had 
better  stay  to  home,'  sais  he.  And  when  he  hears  that  them  as  are 
in  had  better  stay  in  when  they  be  there,  he  takes  the  hint  and  goes 
back  agin.  '  Come,  boys,  let's  go  to  Black  Stump  Swamp  and 
sarch  for  honey.  "We  shall  be  back  in  time  to  walk  home  with  the 
gails  from  night  meetin',  by  airly  candle-light.     Let's  go.' 

"  Well,  they  want  to  recruit  the  stock  of  tame  ones  inside  meetin*, 
they  sarcumvent  some  o'  these  wild  ones  outside  ;  make  a  dash  on 
'em,  catch  'em,  dip  'em,  and  give  'em  a  name ;  for  all  sects  don't 
always  baptize  'em  as  we  do,  when  children,  but  let  'em  grow  up 
wild  in  the  herd  till  they  are  wanted.  They  have  hard  work  to 
break  'em  in,  for  they  are  smart  ones,  that's  a  f'xct ;  but,  like  the 
hosses  of  Sable  Island,  they  have  always  an  zye  to  natur'  arter- 
wards ;  the  change  is  too  sudden,  you  can't  trust  'em — at  least  I 
never  see  one  as  /could,  that's  all. 

"  Well,  when  they  come  out  o'  meetin',,  look  at  the  dignity  and 
sanctity,  and  pride  o'  humility  o'  the  tame  old  ones.  Read  their 
faces.  '  How  does  the  print  go  ?'  Wliy  this  way — '  I  am  a  sinner, 
at  least  I  was  once,  but  thank  fortiu'  I  ain't  like  you,  you  oncon- 
verted,  benighted,  and  good-for-nothin'  ci'itter  you.'  Read  the  on- 
tamed  one's  face,  what's  the  print  there  ?  Why,  it's  this.  As  soon 
as  he  sees  over-righteous  stalk  by  arter  that  fashion,  it  says,  '  How 
good  we  are,  ain't  we  ?  Whc  ^yet  his  hay  to  the  lake  t'other  day, 
on  his  way  to  market,  and  made  two  tons  weigh  two  tons  and  a 
half?  You'd  better  look  as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  your  mouth, 
hadn't  you,  old  Sugar-cane  ?' 

"  Now  jist  foUer  them  two  rulin*  elders,  Sourcrout  and  Coldslaugh; 
they  are  plaguy  jealous  of  their  neighbor.  Elder  Josh  Chis-el,  that 
exhorted  to-day.  '  How  did  you  like  Brother  Josh  to-day  ?'  says 
Sourcrout,  a  utterin'  of  it  through  his  nose.  Good  men  always 
speak  through  the  nose.  It's  what  comes  out  o'  the  mouth  that  de- 
files a  man  ;  but  there  is  no  mistake  in  the  nose  ;  it's  the  porch  of 
the  temple,  that.     '  How  did  you  like  Brother  Josh  ?' 

" '  Well,  he  warn't  very  peeowerful !' 

" '  Was  he  ever  peeowerful  ?' 

" '  Well,  y^hen  a  boy,  they  say  he  was  considerable  sum  at  a 
wrastler.* 

"  Sourcrout  won't  larf,  because  it's  agin  rules ;  but  he  gig  goggles 
like  a  turkey-cock,  and  says  he,  '  It's  for  ever  and  ever  the  same 
thing  with  Brother  Josh.  He  is  like  an  overshot  mill,  one  ever- 
lastin'  wishy-washy  stream.' 

"  *  When  the  water  ain't  quite  enc  igh  to  turn  the  wheel,  and  only 
spatters,  spatters,  spatters,*  says  Coldslaugh. 

"  Sourcrout  gig  goggles  agin,  as  if  he  was  swallerin'  shelled  com 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


88 


whole.  *  That  trick  of  wettin'  the  hay,'  says  he,  *  to  make  it  weigh 
heavy,  warn't  cleverly  done ;  it  ain't  pretty  to  be  caught ;  ii'.'s  only 
bunglers  do  that.' 

" '  He  is  so  fond  of  temperance,'  says  Coldslaugh,  *  he  wanted  to 
make  his  hay  jine  society,  and  drink  cold  water,  too.' 

"  Sourcrout  gig  goggles  agin,  till  he  takes  a  fit  of  the  asmy,  sets 
down  on  a  stump,  claps  both  hands  on  his  sides,  and  coughs,  and 
coughs,  till  he  finds  coughing  no  joke  no  more.  Oh  dear,  dear  con- 
varted  men,  though  they  won't  larf  themselves,  make  others  larf 
the  worst  kind,  sometimes — don't  they? 

"  I  do  believe,  on  my  soul,  if  religion  was  altogether  left  to  the 
voluntary  in  this  world,  it  would  die  a  nateral  death  ;  not  that  men 
toouldtiH  support  it,  but  because  it  would  be  supported  under  false 
2)retences.  Truth  can't  be  long  upheld  by  falsehood.  Hypocrisy 
would  change  its  features,  and  intolerance  its  name ;  and  religion 
would  soon  degenerate  into  a  cold,  intriguing,  onprincipled,  marci- 
less  superstition,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Yes,  on  the  whole,  I  rather  like  these  plain,  decent,  onpretendin* 
country  churches  here,  clthough  t'other  ones  remind  me  of  old 
times,  vSen  I  was  an  ontamed  one  too.  Yes,  I  like  an  English 
church  ;  i  tt  as  for  Minister  pretendin'  for  to  come  for  to  go  for  to 
preach  agin  '  it  beautiful  long-haired  young  rebel.  Squire  Absalom, 
for  'stealin'  the  hearts  of  the  people,'  why  it's  rather  takiu'  the  rag 
olf  the  bush,  ain't  it  ? 

"  Tell  you  what,  Squire ;  there  ain't  a  man  in  their  whole  church 
here,  from  Lord  Canter  Berry  that  preaches  afore  the  Queen,  to 
Parson  Homily  that  preached  afore  us,  nor  never  was,  nqr  never 
will  be  equal  to  Old  Minister  liisself  for  '  stealin'  the  hearts  of  the 
people.' " 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


Bb  a 


NATUR'. 

In  the  course  of  the  journey,  the  conversation  turned  u|k)u  the 
several  series  of  the  "  Clockniaker  "  I  liud  published,  and  their  rela- 
tive merits.  Mr.  Slick  appeared  to  think  they  all  owed  their  popu- 
larity mainly  to  the  freshness  and  originality^  of  character  incidental 
to  a  new  country. 

"  You  are  in  the  wrong  pew  here.  Squire,"  said  he  ;  "  you  are, 
upon  my  soul.  If  you  think  ta  sketch  the  English  in  a  way  any 
one  will  stop  to  look  at,  you  have  missed  a  figur',  that's  all.  Y^ou 
can't  do  it,  nohow  you  can  fix  it.     There  is  no  contrasts  here,  no 


iwl/l?,f«(WUW»l"l 


•'■■I^IIMf* 


:lli 


I   1 

I 


f'' 


ilii 


81 


THE  attachI:;  or^ 


variation  of  colors,  no  light  and  shade,  no  nothin'.  What  sort  of  a 
pictur'  would  straight  lines  of  anything  make  ?  Take  a  parcel  of 
sodjers,  officers  and  all,  and  stretch  'em  out  in  a  row,  and  paint  'em, 
and  then  engrave  'em,  and  put  it  into  one  of  our  annuals,  and  see 
how  folks  would  larf,  and  ask,  '  What  boardin'-school  gall  did  that  ? 
Who  pulled  her  up  out  of  standin'  corn,  and  sot  her  up  on  eend  for 
an  artist  V  they'd  say. 

"  There  is  nothin'  here  to  take  hold  on.  It's  so  plaguy  smooth 
and  high  polished,  the  hands  slip  off;  you  can't  get  a  grip  of  it. 
Now,  take  Lord  First  Chop,  who  is  the  most  fashionable  man  iu 
London,  dress  him  in  the  best  cut  coat,  best  trowsers,  French  boots, 
Paris  gloves,  ai:\d  gi'ape-vine^oot  cane,  don't  forget  his  whiskers,  or 
mous-stache,  or  breast-pins,  or  gold  chains,  or  anything ;  and  what 
have  you  got  ? — a  tailor's  print-card,  and  nothin'  else. 

"  Take  a  lady,  and  dress  her  in  a'most  a  beautiful  long  habit,, 
man's*  hat,  stand-up  collar  and  stock,  clap  a  beautiful  little  cow-hide 
whip  in  her  hand,  and  mount  her  on  a'most  a  splendiferous  white 
hos9,  with  long  tail  and  flowin'  mane,  u  rairin'  and  a  cavortin'  like 
mail,  and  a  charapin'  and  a  chawin'  of  its  bit,  and  a  makin'  the  froth 
fly  from  its  mouth,  a  spatterin'  and  white-spottin'  of  her  beautiful 
trailin'  skirt,  like  anything.  And  what  have  you  got  ? — why,  a 
print  like  the  posted  hand-bills  of  a  circus. 

"  Now  spit  on  your  fingers,  and  rub  Lord  First  Chop  out  of  the 
slate,  and  draw  an  Irish  laborer,  with  his  coat  off,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, with  his  breeches  loose  and  antied  at  the  knees,  his  yarn 
stockings  and  thick  shoes  on ;  a  little  dudeen  in  his  mouth,  as 
black  as  ink  and  as  short  as  nothin' :  his  hat  with  devilish  little 
rim  and  no  crown  to  it,  and  a  hod  on  his  shoulders,  filled  with 
bricks,  and  him  lookin'  as  if  he  was  a  singin'  away  as  merry  as  a 
cric'iet : — 

'  When  I  was  yountr  and  unmarried,  my  shoes  they  were  new, 
But  now  I  am  old  and  am  married,  the  water  runs  troo.' 

Do  that,  and  you  have  got  sunthin'  worth  lookin'  at,  quite  pictures- 
quee,  as  Sister  Sail  used  to  say.  And  because  why  ?  You  have 
got  sunthin^  nateral. 

"  Well,  take  the  angylyferous  dear  a  horseback,  and  rub  her  out 
(well,  I  won't  say  that  nother,  for  I'm  fond  of  the  little  critturs, 
<lressed  or  not  dressed  for  company,  or  any  way  they  like),  yes,  I 
like  woman-natur',  I  tell  you.  But  turn  over  the  slate,  and  draw 
on  t'other  side  on't  an  old  woman,  with  a  red  cloak,  and  a  striped 
petticoat,  and  a  poor  pinched-up,  old,  squashed-in  bonnet  on,  bendin' 
fbrrard,  with  a  staff  in  her  hand,  a  leadin'  of  a  donkey  that  has  a 
pair  of  yallow  willow  saddle-bags  on.  with  colored  vegetables  and 
flowers,  and  red  beet-tops,  a  goin'  to  market.    And  what  have  you 


M 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLANJ;. 


85 


got?  Why,  a  pictur'  worth  lookin'  at,  too.  Why? — became  it's 
natiir'. 

"  Now  look  here,  Squire :  let  Copley,  if  he  was  alive,  but  he 
ain't ;  and  it's  a  pity,  too,  for  it  would  liave  kinder  happified  the  old 
man,  to  see  his  son  in  the  House  of  Lords,  wouldn't  it  ?  Squire 
Copley,  you  know,  was  a  Boston  man ;  and  a  credit  to  our  great 
nation,  too.     P'rhaps  Europe  never  has  never  dittoed  hini  since. 

"  Well,  if  he  was  above  ground  now,  alive,  and  stirrin',  why  take 
and  fetch  him  to  i  upper  crust  London  party  ;  and  sais  you,  '  Old 
Tenor,'  sni  [Kiuit  all  them  silver  plates,  and  silver  dishes,  and 

silver  covtiuds,  and  what  nots  ;  and  then  paint  them  lords  with 
their  stars,  and  them  Indies'  (Lord,  if  he  would  paint  them  with 
their  garters,  folks  wf)(ild  buy  the  pictur,  cause  that's  nateral), 
'them  ladies  with  thei*  jt^vcis,  and  their  sarvants  with  their  liveries, 
as  large  as  life,  and  twice  as  nateral.' 

'*  Well,  he'd  paint  it,  if  you  paid  him  for  it,  that's  a  fact ;  for 
there  is  no  better  bait  to  fish  for  us  Yankees,  arter  all,  than  a  dollar. 
That  old  boy  nev<.'r  turned  up  his  nose  at  a  dollar,  except  when  he 
thought  he  ought  fo  <;  jC  two.  And  if  he  painted  it,  it  wouldn't  be 
bad,  I  tell  you. 

"  '  Now,'  sais  you,  '  you  have  done  high  life,  do  low  life  "or  me, 
and  I  will  pay  you  well — I'll  come  down  hansum,  and  do  the  thing 
genteel,  you  may  depend.  Then,'  sais  you,  '  put  in  for  a  back- 
ground that  noble,  old  Noah-like  lookin'  wood,  that's  as  dark  as 
comingo.     Have  you  done  ?'  sais  L 

"  '  1  guess  so,"  says  he. 

"  '  Then  put  in  a  brook  jist  in  front  of  it,  runnin'  over  stones,  and 
foamin'  and  a  bubblin'  up  like  anything.' 

"  '  It's  in,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  jab  two  forked  sticks  in  the  ground  ten  feet  apart,  this 
side  of  the  brook,'  sais  you,  'and  clap  a  pole  across  atween  the  forks. 
Is  that  down  ?'  sais  you. 

" '  Yes,'  sais  he. 

" '  Then,*  sais  you,  '  hang  a  pot  on  that  horizontal  pole,  make  a 
clear  little  vvood  lire  onderneath ;  paint  two  covered  carts  near  it. 
Let  an  ol<i  lioss  drink  at  the  stream,  and  two  donkeys  make  a  feed 
oft'  a  patch  of  thistles.     Have  you  stuck  that  in  ?' 

"  *  Stop  a  bit,'  says  he, '  paintin'  an't  quite  as  fast  done  as  writii.'. 
Have  a  little  grain  of  patience,  will  you  ?  It's  tall  paintin',  makin' 
the  brush  walk  at  that  price.  Now  there  you  are,'  sais  he.  '  What's 
next  ?  But,  mind  I've  most  filled  my  canvas ;  it  will  cost  you  a 
pretty  considerable  penny,  if  you  want  all  them  crittei-s  in,  when  I 
come  to  cypher  all  the  pictur  up,  and  sumtotalize  the  whole  of  it.* 

" '  Oh !  cuss  the  cost !'  sais  you.  '  Do  you  jist  obey  orders,  and 
break  owners,  that's  all  you  have  to  do,  Old  Loyalist.' 

" '  Very  well,*  sais  he,  *  here  goes.* 


li 


f    i' 


I 


H> 


THE  ATTACHE;   OB, 


" '  Well,  then,'  sais  you,  *  paint  a  party  of  gipsies  there  ;  mind  their 
different  colored  clothes,  and  different  attitudes,  and  different  occupa- 
tions. Here  a  man  mendin'  a  harness,  there  a  woman  pickin'  a 
stolen  fowl,  here  a  man  skinnin'  a  rabbit,  there  a  woman  with  her 
petticoat  up,  a  puttin'  of  a  patch  in  it.  Here  two  boys  a  fishin',  and 
there  a  little  gall  a  playin'  with  a  dog,  that's  a  racin'  and  a  yelpin', 
and  a  barkin'  like  mad.' 

" '  Well,  when  he's  done,*  sais  you,  *  which  pictur  do  you  reckon  is 
the  best  now.  Squire  Copley  ?  speak  candid,  for  I  want  to  know,  and 
I  ask  you  now  as  a  countryman.' 

" '  Weir  he'll  jist  up  and  tell  you,  '  Mr.  Poker,'  sais  he,  *  your 
fashionable  party  is  the  devil,  that's  a  fact.  Man  made  the  town, 
but  God  made  the  country.  Your  company  is  as  formal,  and  as 
stiff,  and  as  oninterestin'  as  a  row  of  poplars ;  but  your  gipsy  scene 
is  beautiful,  because  it's  nateral.  It  was  me  painted  old  Chatham's 
death  in  the  House  of  Lords ;  folks  praised  it  a  good  deal ;  but  it  was 
no  great  shakes,  there  was  no  natur'  in  it.  The  scene  was  rael,  the 
likenesses  was  good,  and  there  was  spirit  in  it,  but  their  damned  uni- 
form toggery  spoiled  the  whole  thing — it  was  artificial,  and  wanted 
life  and  natur.  Now,  suppose  such  a  thing  in  Congress,  or  suppose 
some  fellow  skiver'd  the  speaker  with  a  bowie  knife,  as  happened  to 
Arkansaw,  if  I  was  to  paint  it,  it  would  be  beautiful.  Our  free  and 
enlightened  people  is  so  different,  so  characteristic  and  peculiar,  it 
would  give  a  great  field  to  a  painter.  To  sketch  tho  different  style 
of  man  of  each  state,  so  that  any  citizen  would  sing  right  out ;  Heav- 
ens and  earth,  if  that  don't  beat  all !  Why,  as  I  am  a  livin'  sinner, 
that's  the  Hoosier  of  Indiana,  or  the  Sucker  of  Illinois,  or  the  Puke 
of  Missouri,  or  the  Bucky  of  Ohio,  or  the  Red  Horse  of  Kentucky, 
or  the  Mudhead  of  Tennessee,  or  the  Wolverine  of  Michigan,  or  the 
Eel  of  New  England,  or  the  Corn  Cracker  of  Virginia !  That's  the 
thing  that  gives  inspiration.  That's  the  glass  of  talabogus  that  raises 
your  spirits.  There  is  much  of  elegance,  and  more  of  comfort  in 
England.  It  is  a  great  and  a  good  country,  Mr.  Poker,  but  there  is 
no  natur  in  it.' 

"  It  is  as  true  as  gospel,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I'm  tellin'  you  no  lie. 
It's  a  fact.  If  you  expect  to  paint  them  English,  as  you  have  the 
Blue-Noses  and  us,  you'll  pull  your  line  up  without  a  fish,  oftener 
than  you  are  a-thinkin'  on ;  that's  the  reason  all  our  folks  have  failed. 
'  Rush's  book  is  jist  molasses  and  water,  not  quite  so  sweet  as  'lasses, 
and  not  quite  so  good  as  water,  but  a  spilin'  of  both.  And  why  ? 
His  pictur  was  of  polished  life,  where  there  is  no  natur.  Washing- 
ton Irving's  book  is  like  a  Dutch  paintin',  it  is  good,  because  it  is 
faithful ;  the  mop  has  the  right  number  of  yarns,  and  each  yarn  has 
the  right  number  of  twists  (altho'  he  mistook  the  mop  of  the  grand- 
father for  the  mop  of  the  man  of  the  present  day)  and  the  pewter 
plates  are  on  the  kif<hen  diesser,  and  the  other  little  notions  are  all 


"ffi.lJirWBW^'BWW'WIWWHWW^'' 


•11  iiiwiii^i  1 1  jijiiui  ipij  |l|,pjp|||pi 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


87 


p;  mind  their 
erent  occupa- 
»an  pickin'  a 
ma  with  her 
a  fishin',  and 
tnd  a  yelpin', 

i^ou  reckon  is 
to  know,  and 

is  he,  'your 
[e  the  town, 
mal,  and  as 
gipsy  scene 
[  Chatham's 
;  but  it  was 
as  rael,  the 
lamned  uni- 
and  wanted 
or  suppose 
appened  to 
Jr  free  and 
peculiar,  it 
'erent  style 
>ut ;  Heav- 
^in'  sinner, 
'  the  Puke 
Kentucky, 
fan,  or  the 
That's  the 
that  raises 
Jomfort  in 
It  there  is 

ou  no  lie. 
have  the 
K  oftener 
ve  failed, 
as  'lasses, 
nd  why  ? 
'V'ashing- 
luse  it  is 
rarn  has 
e  grand- 
'■  pewter 
8  are  all 


there.  He  has  done  the  most  that  could  be  done  for  them,  but  the 
painter  dasarves  more  praise  than  the  subject. 

"  Why  is  it  every  man's  sketches  of  America  takes  ?  Do  you  sup- 
pose it  is  the  sketches  ?  No.  Do  you  reckon  it  is  the  interest  we 
create  ?  No.  Is  it  our  grand  experiment  ?  No.  They  don't  care 
a  brass  button  for  us,  or  our  country,  or  experiments  nother.  What 
is  it,  then  ?  It  is  because  they  are  sketches  of  natur.  Natur  in 
every  grade  and  every  variety  of  form ;  from  the  silver  plate,  and 
silver  fork,  to  the  finger  and  huntin*  knife.  Our  artificial  Britishers 
laugh  at ;  they  are  bad  copies,  that's  a  fact ;  I  give  them  up.  Let 
them  laugh,  and  be  darned ;  but  I  stick  to  my  natur,  and  I  stump 
them  to  produce  the  like. 

"  Oh,  Squire,  if  you  ever  sketch  me,  for  goodness  gracious  sake, 
don't  sketch  me  as  an  Attache  to  our  embassy,  with  the  Legation 
button  on  the  coat,  and  black  Jube  Japan  in  livery.  Don't  do  that ; 
but  paint  me  in  my  old  waggon  in  Nover  Sootier,  with  Old  Clay  be- 
fore me,  you  by  my  side,  a  segar  in  my  mouth,  and  natur  all  round 
me.  And  if  that  is  too  artificial ;  oh,  paint  me  in  the  backwoods, 
with  my  huntin'  coat  on,  my  leggins,  my  cap,  my  belt,  and  my  pow- 
der-horn. Paint  me  with  my  talkin'  iron  in  my  hand,  wipin'  her, 
chargin'  her,  selectin'  the  bullet,  placin'  it  in  the  greased  wad,  and 
rammin'  it  down.  Then  draw  a  splendid  oak  openin'  so  as  to  give 
a  good  view,  paint  a  squirrel  on  the  tip  top  of  the  highest  branch  of 
the  loftiest  tree,  place  me  off'  at  a  hundred  yards,  drawin'  a  bead  on 
him  fine,  then  show  the  smoke,  and  young  squire  squirrel  comin' 
tumblin'  down  head  over  heels  lumpus',  to  see  whether  the  ground 
was  as  hard  as  dead  squirrels  said  it  was.  Paint  me  nateral,  I  be- 
seech you ;  for  I  tell  you  now,  as  I  told  you  before,  and  ever  shall 
say,  there  is  nothin'  worth  havin'  or  knowin',  or  hearin',  or  readin', 
or  seein',  or  tastin',  or  smellin',  or  feelin',  and  above  all  and  more 
than  all,  nothin'  worth  affeetionin'  but  Natur. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    SOCDOLAGER. 

As  soon  as  I  found  my  friend  Mr.  Hopewell  comfortably  settled 
in  his  lodgings,  I  went  to  the  office  of  the  Belgian  Consul  and  other 
persons  to  obtain  the  necessary  passports  for  visiting  Germany, 
where  I  had  a  son  at  school.  Mr.  Slick  proceeded  at  the  same  timo 
to  the  residence  of  his  Excellency  Abednego  Layman,  who  had  been 
sent  to  this  country  by  the  United  States  on  a  special  mission,  rela- 
tive to  the  Tai-iff. 


88 


THE  ATTACHE  ;   OR, 


1 


1    II 


t 


"I! 


r   !| 


On  my  return  from  the  city  in  the  afternoon,  he  told  me  he  had 
presented  his  credentials  to  "  the  Socdolager,"  and  was  most  gra- 
ciously and  cordially  received ;  but  still  I  could  not  fail  to  observe 
that  there  was  an  evident  air  of  disappointment  about  him. 

"Pray,  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  Socdolager,"  I  asked.  "I 
never  heard  of  the  tenn  before." 

"  Possible !"  said  he,  "  never  heerd  tell  of  '  the  Socdolager,'  why 
you  don't  say  so !  The  Socdolager  is  the  President  of  the  lakes — 
he  is  the  whale  of  the  intarnal  seas — the  Indgians  worshipped  him 
once  on  a  time  as  the  king  of  fishes.  He  lives  in  great  state  in  the 
deep  waters,  does  the  ©Id  boy,  and  he  don't  often  show  himself.  I 
never  see'd  him  myself,  nor  any  one  that  ever  had  sot  eyes  on  him ; 
but  the  old  Indgians  have  see'd  him  and  know  him  well.  He  won't 
take  no  bait,  will  the  Socdolager ;  he  can't  be  caught,  no  how  you 
can  fix  it,  he  is  so  'tarnal  knovvin',  and  he  can't  be  speared  nother, 
for  the  moment  he  sees  aim  taken,  he  ryles  the  water  and  is  out  of 
sight  in  no  time.  Me  can  take  in  whole  shoals  of  others  hisself,  tho* 
at  a  mouthful.  He's  a  whappei*,  that's  a  fact.  I  call  our  Minister 
here  '  the  Socdolager,'  for  our  rfiplomaters  were  never  known  to  be 
hooked  once  yet,  and  actilly  beat  all  natur'  for  knowin'  the  soundin's, 
smellin'  the  bait,  givin'  the  dodge,  or  rylin'  the  water,  so  no  soul  can 
see  thro'  it  but  themselves.  Yes,  he  is  '  a  Socdolager,'  or  a  whale 
among  rf/plomaters. 

"  Well,  I  rigs  up  this  morning,  full  fig,  calls  a  cab,  and  proceeds 
in  state  to  our  embassy,  gives  what  Cooper  calls  a  lord's  beat  of  six 
thund'rin'  rais  of  the  knocker,  presents  the  legation  ticket,  and  wa,s 
admitted  to  where  ambassador  was.  He  is  a  very  pretty  man  all  up 
his  shirt,  and  he  talks  pretty,  and  smiles  pretty,  and  bows  pretty,  and 
he  has  got  the  whitest  hand  you  ever  see,  it  looks  as  white  as  a  new 
bread  and  miik  poultice.    It  does  indeed. 

" '  Sam  Slick,'  sais  he, '  as  I'm  alive.  Well,  how  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Slick  ?  I  am  'nation  glad  to  see  you,  I  affection  you  as  a  member 
of  our  legation.  I  feel  kinder  proud  to  have  the  first  literary  man 
of  our  great  nation  as  my  Attache. 

" '  Your  knowledge  of  human  natur,  sais  he,  ('  added  to  your'n  of 
soft  sawder,'  sais  I.)  '  will  raise  our  great  nation,  I  guess,  in  the  scale 
o'  European  estimation.' 

"  He  is  as  sensitu'e  as  a  skinned  eel,  is  Layman,  and  he  winced  at 
that  poke  at  his  soft  sawder  like  anything,  and  puckered  a  little  about 
the  mouth,  but  he  didn't  say  nothin',  he  only  bowed.  He  was  a 
Unitarian  preacher  once,  was  Abednego,  but  he  swapt  preachin'  for 
politics,  and  a  good  trade  he  made  of  it  too ;  that's  a  fact. 

" '  A  great  change,'  sais  I, '  Abednego,  since  you  was  a  preachin' 
to  Connecticut,  and  I  was  a  vendin'  of  clocks  to  Nova  Scotia,  ain't 
it  ?  Who'd  a  thought  then,  you'd  a  been  "  a  Socdolager,"  and  me 
your  "  pilot  fish,"  eh !' 


■u  I 


f.fi  vmtum^j  \,wu\^tm%"^<^e^'vtmmn 


TT 


'"  mi  <i'9)wmiimmmmimi^m^ 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


89 


I  me  he  had 
IS  most  gra- 
1  to  observe 
n. 
asked.     "  I 

)lager,'  why 
the  lakes — 
hipped  him 
state  in  the 
himself.  I 
'es  on  him ; 
He  won't 
ao  how  you 
red  nother, 
id  is  out  of 
hisself,  tho' 
jr  Minister 
nown  to  be 
e  soundin's, 
no  soul  can 
or  a  whale 

id  proceeds 
beat  of  six 
et,  and  wa.s 
man  all  up 
pretty,  and 
e  as  a  new 

ou  do,  Mr. 

a  member 

;erary  man 

)  your'n  of 
n  the  scale 

winced  at 
little  about 

He  was  a 
eachin'  for 

I  preachin' 
cotia,  ain't 
:,"  and  me 


**  It  was  a  raw  spot,  that,  and  I  always  touched  him  on  it  for  fun, 

"  '  Sam,'  said  he,  and  his  face  fell  like  an  empty  puss,  when  it  gets 
a  few  cents  put  into  each  eend  on  it,  the  weight  makes  it  grow  twice 
as  long  in  a  minute.  '  Sam,'  said  he,  '  don't  call  me  that  are,  except 
when  we  are  alone  here,  that's  a  good  soul;  not  that  I  am  proud,  for 
I  am  a  true  Republican ;'  and  he  put  his  hand  on  his  heart,  bowed 
and  smiled  hansum,  '  but  these  people  will  make  a  nickname  of  it, 
and  we  shall  never  hear  the  last  of  it,  that's  a  fact.  We  must  re- 
spect ourselves  afore  others  will  respect  us.  You  onderstand,  don't 
you?' 

"  '  Oh,  don't  1,'  sais  I,  '  that's  all?  It's  only  here  I  talks  this  way, 
because  we  are  at  home  now ;  but  I  can't  help  a  thinkin'  how  strange 
things  do  turn  up  sometimes.  Do  you  recollect,  when  I  heard  you 
a-i)reachin'  about  Hope  a-pitchin'  of  her  tent  on  a  hill  ?  By  gosh,  it 
struck  me  then,  you'd  pitch  your  tent  high  some  day ;  you  did  it 
beautiful.' 

"  He  know'd  I  didn't  like  this  change,  that  Mr.  Hopewell  had 
kinder  inoculated  me  with  other  guess  views  on  these  matters,  so  he 
began  to  throw  up  bankments  and  to  picket  in  the  ground,  all  round 
for  defence  like. 

*' '  Hope,'  sais  he,  '  is  the  attribute  of  a  Christian,  Slick,  for  he 
hopes  beyond  this  world ;  but  I  changed  on  principle.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I  changed  on  interest ;  now  if  our  great  nation  is 
backed  by  principal  and  interest  here,  I  guess  its  credit  is  kinder 
well  built.  And  atween  you  and  me,  Abednego,  that's  more  than 
the  soft-horned  British  will  ever  see  from  all  our  States.  Some  on 
'em  are  intarmined  to  pay  neither  debt  nor  interest,  and  give  nothiu' 
but  lip  in  retam.' 

" '  Now,'  sais  he,  a  pretendin*  to  take  no  notice  of  this,  *  you  knew 
we  have  the  Voluntary  with  us,  Mr.  Slick.'  He  said  ^Mister'  that 
time,  for  he  began  to  get  formal  on  puppus  to  stop  jokes ;  but,  dear 
me,  where  all  men  are  equal  what's  the  use  of  one  man  tryin'  to  look 
big  ?  He  must  take  to  growin'  agin  I  guess  to  do  that.  '  You  know 
we  have  the  Voluntary  with  us,  JVIr.  Slick,'  sais  he. 

" '  Jist  so,'  sais  I. 

" '  Well,  what's  the  meanin'  of  that  ?' 

" '  Why,'  sais  I,  '  that  you  support  religion  or  let  it  alone,  as  yon 
like ;  that  you  can  take  it  up  as  a  pedlar  does  hi.--  pack,  carry  it  till 
you  are  tired,  then  lay  it  down,  set  on  it,  and  let  it  support  you.' 

" '  Exactly,'  sals  he ;  'it  is  voluntary  on  the  hearer,  and  it's  jist  so 
with  the  minister,  too ;  for  his  preachin'  is  voluntary  also.  He  can 
preach  or  let  it  alone,  as  he  likes.  It's  voluniary  all  through.  It's 
a  bad  rule  that  won't  work  both  ways.* 

" '  Well,  sais  I,  '  there  is  a  good  dcul  in  that,  too.*  I  >aid  that  ji&t 
to  lead  him  on. 

"  '  A  good  deal !'  sais  he,  '  why  it's  everything.     But  I  didc't  rest 


90 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


on  that  alone ;  I  propounded  this  maxim  to  myself.  Every  man, 
sais  I,  is  bound  to  sarve  his  fellow  citizens  to  his  utmost.  That's 
true ;  ain't  it,  Mr.  Slick  ?' 

" '  Guess  so,'  sais  I.  '  •• 

"  *  Well  then,  I  asked  myself  this  here  question :  Can  I  sarve  my 
fellovir  citizens  best  by  bein'  minister  to  Peach  settlement,  'tendin'  on 
a  little  village  of  two  thousand  souls,  and  preachin'  ray  throat  sore, 
or  bein*  special  minister  to  Saint  Jimses,  and  sarvin'  our  great  Re- 
public and  its  thirteen  millions?  Why,  no  reasonable  man  can 
doubt ;  so  I  give  up  preachin'.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  Abednego,  you  are  a  Socdolager,  that's  a  fact ; 
you  are  a  great  man  and  a  gi'eat  scholard.  Now  a  great  scholard, 
when  he  can't  do  a  sum  the  way  its  stated,  jist  states  it  so — be  can 
do  it.  Now  the  right  way  to  state  that  sum  is  arter  this  fashion : 
*'  Which  is  best,  to  endeavor  to  save  the  souls  of  two  thousand  neo- 
pie  under  my  spiritual  charge,  or  let  them  go  to  Old  Nick  and  s?  ve 
a  piece  of  wild  land  in  Maine,  get  pay  for  an  old  steamer  burnt  to 
Canada,  and  uphold  the  slave  trade  for  the  interest  of  the  States." 

"  *  That's  specious,  but  not  true,*  said  he ;  *  but  it's  a  matter  ratfier 
for  my  consideration  than  your'n,'  and  he  looked  as  a  feller  does 
■when  he  buttons  his  trousers'  pocket,  as  much  as  to  say,  you  have  no 
right  to  be  a  puttin'  of  your  pickers  and  stealers  in  there,  that's  mine. 
*  We  will  do  better  to  be  less  selfish,*  said  he,  '  and  talk  of  our  great 
nation.' 

"  *  Well,*  says  I,  *  how  do  we  stand  here  in  Europe  ?  Do  we  main- 
tain the  high  pitch  we  had,  or  do  we  sing  a  note  lower  than  we  did  ?* 

"  Well,  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands  onder  his 
coat-tails,  for  ever  so  long,  without  a  sayin'  of  a  word.  At  last,  sais 
he,  with  a  beautiful  smile  that  was  jist  skin  deep,  for  it  played  on  his 
face  as  a  cat's-paw  does  on  the  calm  waters, '  What  was  you  a  sayin* 
of,  Mr.  Slick  ?'  sais  he. 

"'What's  our  position  to  Europe?'  sais  I,  'jist  now;  is  it  letter 
A,  No.  1  ?' 

*"0h!'  sais  he,  and.  he  walked  up  and  down  agin,  cypherin'  like 
to  himself;  and  then  says  he,  'I'll  tell  you;  that  word  Socdolager, 
and  the  trade  of  preachin',  and  clockmakin',  it  would  be  as  well  to 
sink  here ;  neither  on  'em  convene  with  dignity.    Don't  you  think  so?* 

" '  Sartainly,*  sais  I ;  '  it's  only  fit  to  talk  over  a  cigar,  alone.  It 
don't  always  answer  a  good  purpose  to  blart  everything  out.  But 
our  joosition,'  sais  I, '  among  the  nations  of  the  airth,  is  it  what  our 
everlastin'  Union  is  entitled  to  ?' 

" '  Because,*  sais  he, '  some  day  when  I  am  asked  out  to  dinner, 
some  wag  or  another  of  a  lord  will  call  me  parson,  and  ask  me  to 
crave  a  blessin',  jist  to  raise  the  larf  agin  me  for  havin'  been  a 
preacher.* 

"  '  If  he  does,*  sais  I,  'jist  say,  my  Attache  does  that,  and  I'll  jist 


T-fTTi^tTT^.-Vii. 


Mi|.W"WWI 


SAM   SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


91 


liVery  man, 
St.     Thut'8 


[  sarve  my 

'tendin'  on 

hroat  sore, 

great  Re- 

maa  can 

t's  a  fact; 
t  scholard, 
0 — he  can 
3  fashion: 
isand  peo- 
:  and  sp,ve 
r  burnt  to 
States." 
tor  ratGer 
jller  does 
I  have  no 
at's  mine, 
our  great 

we  main- 
we  did  V 
onder  his 
last,  saJs 
ed  on  his 
1  a  sayin' 

1  it  letter 

irin'  like 
idolager, 
3  well  to 
link  so?* 
one.  It 
it.  But 
rhat  our 

dinner, 
k  me  to 
been  a 

rUjist 


up  first  and  give  it  to  him  atween  the  two  eyes ;  and  when  that's 
done,  sais  you,  ray  Lord,  that's  your  grace  afore  meat ;  pr'aps  your 
lordship  will  return  thanks  arter  dinner.  Let  him  try  it,  that's  all. 
But  our  great  nation,'  sais  I,  '  tell  me,  hante  that  noble  stand  we 
made  on  the  right  of  sarch,  raised  us  about  the  toplotliest  ?' 

" '  Oh',  sais  he,  *  right  of  sarch !  right  of  sarch !  I've  been  tryin  to 
sarch  my  memory,  but  can't  find  it.  I  don't  recollect  that  sarmont 
about  Hope  pitchin'  her  tent  on  the  hill."     When  was  it  ?' 

" '  It  was  afore  the  juvenile-united-democratic-republican  associa- 
tion to  Funnel  Hall,*  sais  I. 

" '  Oh,'  says  he,  '  that  was  an  oration — it  was  an  oration  that.* 

" '  Oh !'  sais  I,  *  we  won't  say  no  more  about  that ;  I  only  meant  it 
as  a  joke,  and  nothin'  more.  But  railly  now,  Abednego,  what  is  the 
state  of  our  legation  ?' 

" '  I  don't  see  nothin'  ridikilous,'  sais  he, '  in  that  are  expression, 
of  Hope  pitchin'  her  tent  on  a  hill.  It's  figurativ'  and  poetic,  but 
it's  within  the  line  that  divides  taste  from  bombast.  Hope  pitchin' 
her  tent  on  a  hill !     What  is  there  to  reprehend  in  that  ?' 

"  '  Good  airth  and  seas,'  sais  I,  '  let's  pitch  Hope,  and  her  tent,  and 
the  hill,  all  to  Old  Nick  in  a  heap  together,  and  talk  of  somethin' 
else.  You  needn't  be  so  perkily  ashamed  of  havin'  preached,  man. 
Cromwell  was  a  great  preacher  all  his  life,  but  it  didn't  spile  him  as 
a  Socdolager  one  bit,  but  rather  helped  him,  that's  a  fact.  How  'av 
we  iield  our  footin'  here  ?' 

" '  Not  well,  I  am  grieved  to  say,'  sais  he ;  '  not  wejl.  The  failure 
of  the  United  States'  Bank,  the  repudiation  of  debts  by  several  of 
our  States,  the  foolish  opposition  we  made  to  the  suppression  of  the 
slave-trade,  and  above  all,  the  bad  faith  in  the  business  of  the  boun- 
dary question  has  lowered  us  down,  down,  e'en  a'most  to  the  bottojn 
of  the  shaft.' 

*' '  Abednego,*  sais  I,  *  we  want  sunthin'  besides  boastin'  and  talkin' 
big ;  we  want  a  dash — a  great  stroke  of  policy.  Washington  hangin' 
Andr6  that  time,  gained  more  than  a  battle.  Jackson  by  hangin* 
Arbuthnot  and  Anbristher,  gained  his  election.  M'Kennie  for  havin* 
hanged  them  three  citizens  will  be  made  an  admiral  of  yet,  see  if  he 
don*^.  Now,  if  Captain  Tyler  had  said,  in  his  message  to  Congress, 
'  Any  State  that  repudiates  its  foreign  debts,  we  will  first  fine  it  in 
the  whole  amount,  and  then  cut  it  oif  from  our  great,  free,  enlight- 
ened, moral  and  intellectual  republic*,  he  would  have  gained  by  the 
dash  his  next  election,  and  run  up  our  flag  to  the  mast-head  in  Eu- 
rope. He  would  have  been  popular  to  home,  and  respected  abroad, 
that's  as  clear  as  mud.' 

*• '  He  would  have  done  right.  Sir,  if  he  had  done  that,'  said  Abed- 
nego, '  and  the  right  thing  is  always  approved  of  in  the  eend,  and 
always  esteemed  all  through  the  piece.  A  dash,  as  a  stroke  of 
policy,*  said  he,  'has  sometimes  a  good  effect.     General  Jackson 


92 


THE    ATTACHE  :   OK, 


'  I  always  knowed  you  had  an  excellent  head-piece,'  sais  I, 
I  see  the  heart  is  in  the  right  place  too.     If  you  have 


thrcatenin  France  with  a  war,  if  they  didn't  pay  the  indemnity,  when 
h)!  knew  the  King  would  make  'era  pay  it  whether  or  no,  was  a  mas- 
terpiece ;  and  General  Cass  tellin'  France  if  she  signed  the  right  of 
sarch  treaty,  we  would  fight  both  her  and  England  together  single- 
handed,  was  the  best  move  on  the  political  chess-board  this  century. 
All  these,  Sir,  arc  very  well  in  their  way,  to  produce  an  effect ;  but 
there's  a  better  policy  nor  all  that,  a  far  better  policy,  and  one,  too, 
that  some  of  our  States  and  legislators,  and  presidents,  and  Socdol- 
agers,  as  you  call  'em,  in  m^  mind  have  got  to  larn  yet,  Sam.' 

"  •  What's  that  ?'  sais  I.  '  For  I  don't  believe  in  my  soul  there  is 
nothin'  a'most  our  diplomaters  don't  know.  They  are  a  body  o'  men 
that  does  honor  to  oui  great  nation.  What  policy  are  you  a  indica- 
tin'  of?' 

" '  Why,'  sais  he,  *  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy* 

"  When  I  heerd  him  say  that,  I  springs  right  up  one  end  like  a 
rope  dancer.  *  Give  me  your  hand,  Abednego,*  sais  I ;  '  you  are  a 
man,  every  inch  of  you,'  and  I  squeezed  it  so  hard,  it  made  his  eyes 
water 
*and  now 

thrown  preachin'  overboard,  you  have  kept  your  morals  for  ballast, 
any  how.  1  feel  kinder  px'oud  of  you ;  you  are  jist  a  fit  represent- 
ative for  our  great  nation.  You  are  a  Socdolager,  that's  a  fact.  I 
approbate  your  notion ;  it's  as  correct  as  a  bootjack.  For  nations 
or  individuals,  it's  all  the  same,  honesty  is  the  best  policy,  and  no 
mistake.  That/  sais  I,  '  is  the  hill,  Abednego,  for  Hope  to  pitch  her 
tent  on,  and  no  nis  rake,'  and  I  put  my  finger  to  my  nose,  and  winked. 

"  *  Well,'  sais  he,  'it  is;  but  you  are  a  droll  feller.  Slick — there  is 
no  standin'  your  jokes.  I'll  give  you  leave  to  larf  if  you  like, 
but  you  must  give  me  leave  to  win  if  I  can.  Good  bye.  But 
mind,  Sam,  our  dignity  is  at  stake.  Let's  have  no  more  of  Soc- 
dolagers,  or  Preachin',  or  Clockmakin',  or  Hope  pitchin*  her  tent. 
A  word  to  the  wise.     Good  bye.' 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  rather  like  Abednego's  talk,  myself. 
I  kinder  think  that  it  will  be  respectable  to  be  Attache  to  such  a 
man  as  that.  But  he  is  goin'  out  of  town  for  some  time,  is  the 
Socdolager.  There  is  an  agricultural  dinner,  where  he  has  to 
make  a  conciliation  speech ;  and  a  scientific  association,  where 
there  is  a  piece  of  delicate  brag  and  a  bit  of  soft  sawder  to  do,  and 
then  there  are  visits  to  the  nobility,  peep  at  manufactures,  and  all 
that  sort  of  work,  so  he  won't  be  in  town  for  a  good  spell,  and 
until  then,  I  can't  go  to  Court,  for  he  is  to  introduce  me  himself. 
Pity  that,  but  then  it'll  give  me  lots  o'  time  to  study  human  natur*, 
that  is,  if  there  is  any  of  it  left  here,  for  I  have  some  doubts  about 
that.  Yes,  he  is  an  able  lead  horse,  is  Abednego ;  he  is  a'most  a 
grand  preacher,  a  good  poet,  a  fir  chop  orator,  a  great  diplomater, 
and  a  top  sawyer  of  a  man ;  in  short — he  is  a  Socdolager** 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


DINING    OUT. 


My  visit  to  Germany  was  protracted  beyond  the  period  I  liad 
originally  designed ;  and,  during  ray  absence,  Mr.  Slick  had  been 
constantly  in  company,  either  "dining  out"  daily,  when  in  town,  or 
visiting  from  one  house  to  another  in  the  country. 

I  found  him  in  great  spirits.  He  assured  me  he  had  many  capi- 
tal stories  to  tell  me,  and  that  he  rather  guessed  he  knew  as  much 
of  the  English,  and  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle,  grain  more,  p'raps,  than 
they  knew  of  the  Yankees. 

"  They  are  considerable  large  print,  are  the  Bull  family,"  said 
he  ;  "  you  can  read  them  by  moonliglit.  Indeed,  their  faces  ain't 
onlike  the  moon  in  a  gineral  way ;  only  one  has  got  a  man  in  it, 
and  the  other  hain't  always.  It  tante  a  bright  face ;  you  can  look 
into  it  without  winkin'.  It's  a  cloudy  one  here,  too,  especially  in 
November ;  and  most  all  the  time  makes  you  rather  sad  and  solem- 
choly.  Yes,  John  is  a  moony  man,  that's  a  fact,  and  at  the  full  a 
little  queer  sometimes. 

"  England  is  a  stupid  country  compared  to  our'n.  There  is  no 
variety  where  there  is  no  natur'.  You  have  class  variety  here,  but 
no  individuality.  They  are  insipid,  and  call  it  perlite.  The  men 
dress  alike,  talk  alike,  and  look  as  much  alike  as  Providence  will 
let  'em.  The  club-houses  and  the  tailors  have  done  a  good  deal 
towards  this,  and  so  has  whiggism  and  dissent ;  for  they  have  de- 
stroyed distinctions. 

"  But  this  is  too  deep  for  me.  Ask  Minister,  he  will  tell  you  the 
cause  ;  I  only  tell  you  the  fact. 

"  Dinin'  out  here,  is  both  heavy  work,  and  light  feedin'.  It's 
monstrous  stupid.  One  dinner,  like  one  rainy  day  (it's  rained  ever 
since  I  been  here,  a'most),  is  like  another ;  one  drawin'-room  like 
another  drawin'-room  ;  one  peer's  entertainment,  in  a  gineral  way, 
is  like  another  peer's.  The  same  powdered,  liveried,  lazy,  idle, 
good-for-nothin',  do-little,  stand-in-the-way-of-each-other,  useless  sar- 
vants.  Same  picturs,  same  plate,  same  fixin's,  same  don't-know- 
what-to-do-with-yourself-kinder-o'-lookin'-master.  Great  folks  are 
like  great  folks,  marchants  like  marchants,  and  so  on.  It's  a  pictur, 
it  looks  like  life,  but  it  tante.  The  animal  is  tamed  here ;  he  is  fat- 
ter than  the  wild  one,  but  he  hante  the  spirit. 


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-94 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


"You've  seen  Old  Clay  in  a  pastur*  r,.  racin'  about,  free  from  har- 
ness, head  and  tail  up,  snortin',  cavoriin',  attitudinizin'  of  himself. 
Mane  flowin'  in  the  wind,  eye-ball  startin'  out,  nostrils  inside  out 
a'most,  ears  pricked  up.  A  nateral  hoss ;  put  him  in  a  waggon, 
with  a  rael  spic  and  span  harness,  all  covered  over  with  brass 
buckles  and  brass  knobs,  and  ribbons  in  his  bridle,  rael  jam.  Curb 
him  up,  talk  Yankee  to  him,  and  get  his  ginger  up.  Well,  he  looks 
well ;  but  he  is  '  a  broke  hoss*  He  reminds  you  of  Sam  Slick ; 
cause  when  you  see  a  hoss,  you  think  of  his  master ;  but  he  don't 
remind  you  of  the  rael  *  Old  Clay,'  that's  a  fact. 

"  Take  a  day  here,  now,  in  town  ;  and  they  are  so  identical  the 
same,  that  one  day  sartificates  for  another.  You  can't  get  out  a 
bed  afore  twelve,  in  winter,  the  days  is  so  short,  and  the  fires  ain't 
made,  or  the  room  dusted,  or  the  breakfast  can't  be  got,  or  sunthin' 
or  another.  And  if  you  did,  what's  the  use  ?  There  is  no  one  to 
talk  to,  and  books  only  weaken  your  understandin',  as  water  does 
brandy.  They  make  you  let  others  guess  for  you,  instead  of 
guessin'  for  yourself.  Sarvants  spile  your  habits  here,  and  books 
spile  your  mind.  I  'wouldn't  swap  ideas  with  any  man.  I  make 
my  own  opinions,  as  I  used  to  do  my  own  clocks  ;  and  I  find  they 
are  truer  than  other  men's.  The  Turks  are  so  cussed  heavy,  they 
have  people  to  dance  for  'em ;  tb^  English  are  wus,  for  they  hire 
people  to  think  for  'em.  Never  read  a  book.  Squire — always  think 
for  yourself. 

"  Well,  arter  breakfast,  it's  on  hat  and  coat,  ombrella  in  hand 
(don't  never  forget  that,  for  the  rumatiz,  like  the  perlice,  is  always 
on  the  look  out  here,  to  grab  hold  of  a  feller),  and  go  somewhere 
where  there  is  somebody  or  another,  and  smoke,  and  then  wash  it 
down  with  a  sherry-cobbler ;  (the  drinks  ain't  good  here ;  they 
hante  no  variety  in  them  nother :  no  white-nose,  apple-jack,  stone 
wall,  chain-lightning,  rail-road,  hail-storm  ginsling-talabogus,  switchel 
flip,  gum-ticklers,  phlegm-cutters,  juleps,  skate-iron,  cast-steel,  cock- 
tail, or  nothin',  but  that  heavy,  stupid,  black  fat  porter ;)  then  down 
to  the  coffee-house,  see  what  vessels  have  arrived,  how  markets  is, 
-whether  there  is  a  chance  of  doin'  anythin'  in  cotton  and  tobacco, 
whose  broke  to  home,  and  so  on.  Then  go  to  the  park,  and  see 
what's  a  goin'  on  there  :  whether  those  pretty  critturs,  the  rads,  are 
a  holdin'  a  prime  minister  '  pai*sonally  responsible,'  by  shootin'  at 
him ;  or  whether  there  is  a  levee,  or  the  Queen  is  ridin'  out,  or 
what  not;  take  a  look  at  the  world,  make  a  visit  or  two  to  kill  time, 
when  all  at  once  it's  dark.  Home  then,  smoke  a  cigar,  dress  for 
dinner,  and  arrive  at  a  quarter  past  seven. 

"  Folks  are  up  to  the  notch  here  when  dinner  is  in  question, 
that's  a  f&ct,  fat,  gouty,  broken-winded,  and  foundered  as  they  be. 
It's  rap,  rap,  rap,  ibr  twenty  minutes  at  the  door,  and  in  they  come, 
one  arter  the  other,  as  fast  as  the  sarvants  can  carry  up  their  names. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


j^ 


Cuss  them  sarvants  1  it  takes  seven  or  eight  of  'em  to  carry  a  man's 
name  up  stairs,  they  are  so  awful  lazy,  and  so  shockin'  full  of  por- 
ter. If  a  feller  was  so  lame  he  had  to  be  carried  up  himself,  X 
don't  believe,  on  my  soul,  the  whole  gang  of  them,  from  the  Butler 
that  dresses  in  the  same  clothes  as  his*  master,  to  Boots  that  ain't 
dressed  at  all,  could  make  out  to  bowse  him  up  stairs,  upon  my 
soul  I  don't. 

"  Well,  you  go  in  along  with  your  name,  walk  up  to  old  aunty, 
and  make  a  scrape,  and  the  same  to  old  uncle,  and  then  fall  back. 
This  is  done  as  solemn,  as  if  a  feller's  name  was  called  out  to  take 
his  place  at  a  funeral ;  that  and  the  mistakes  is  the  fun  of  it. 
There  is  a  sarvant  at  a  house  I  visit  at,  that  I  suspicion  is  a  bit  of 
a  bam,  and  the  crittur  shows  both  his  wit  and  sense.  He  never 
does  it  to  a  '  somebody,'  cause  that  would  cost  him  his  place  ;  but 
when  a  '  nobody'  has  a  droll  name,  he  jist  gives  an  accent,  or  a  sly 
twist  to  it,  that  folks  can't  help  a  larfin',  no  more  than  Mr.  Nobody 
can  feelin'  like  a  fool.  He's  a  droll  boy,  that;  I  should  like  to 
know  him. 

"  Well,  arter  'nouncin'  is  done,  then  comes  two  questions— do  I 
know  anybody  here  ?  and  if  I  do,  does  he  look  like  talk  or  not  ? 
Well,  seein'  that  you  \i&ve  no  handle  to  your  name,  and  a  stranger, 
I  it's  most  likely  you  can't  answer  these  questions  right ;   so  you 

stand  and  use  your  eyes,  and  put  your  tongue  up  in  its  case  till 
it's  wanted.  Company  are  all  come,  and  now  they  have  to  be  mar- 
shalled two  and  two,  lock  and  lock,  and  go  into  the  dinin'-room  to 
feed. 

"When  I  first  came,  I  was  nation  proud  of  that  title,  *the 
Attach^ ;'  now  I  am  happified  it's  nothin'  but  '  only  an  Attache,' 
and  rU  tell  you  why.  The  great  guns,  and  big  bags,  have  to  take 
in  each  other's  ladies,  so  these  old  ones  have  to  herd  together. 
Well,  the  nobodies  go  together  too,  and  sit  together,  and  I've  ob- 
served these  nobodies  are  the  pleasantest  people  at  table,  and  they 
have  the  pleasantest  places,  because  they  sit  down  with  each  other, 
and  are  jist  like  yourself,  plaguy  glad  to  get  some  one  to  talk  to. 
Somebody  can  only  visit  somebody,  but  nobody  can  go  anywhere, 
and  therefore  nobody  sees  and  knows  twice  as  much  as  somebody 
does.  Somebodies  must  be  axed,  if  they  are  as  stupid  as  a  pump  ; 
but  nobodies  needn't,  and  never  are,  unless  they  are  spicy  sort  o' 
folks  ;  so  you  are  sure  of  them,  and  they  have  all  the  fun  and  wit 
of  the  table  at  their  eend,  and  no  mistake. 

"  I  wouldn't  take  a  title  if  they  would  give  it  to  me  ;  for  if  I  had 
one,  I  should  have  a  fat  old  parblind  dowager  detailed  on  to  me  to 
take  in  to  dinner ;  and  what  the  plague  is  her  jewels  and  laces,  and 
silks  and  sattins,  and  wigs  to  me  ?  As  it  is,  I  have  a  chance  to 
have  a  gall  to  take  in  that's  a  jewel  herself — one  that  don't  want  no 
settin'  off,  and  carries  her  diamonds  in  her  eyes,  and  so  on.    I'vo 


'"•WWJII^IWBIW 


96 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


told  our  Minister  not  to  introduce  me  as  an  Attache  no  more,  but 
as  Mr.  Nobody,  from  the  State  of  Nothin',  in  America — thafs  naiur* 
agin. 

''  But  to  get  back  to  the  dinner.  Arter  you  are  in  marchin'  or- 
der, you  move  in  through  two  rows  of  sarvants  in  uniform.  J  used 
to  think  they  was  placed  there  for  show ;  but  it's  to  keep  the  air 
off  of  folks  a  goin'  through  the  entry,  and  it  ain't  a  bad  thought, 
nother. 

"  Lord,  the  first  time  I  went  to  one  o'  these  grand  let  offs,  I  felt 
kinder  skeery,  and  as  nobody  was  allocated  to  me  to  take  in,  I  goes 
in  alone,  not  knowin'  where  I  was  to  settle  down  as  a  squatter,  and 
kinder  lagged  behind ;  when  the  butler  comes  and  rams  a  napkin 
in  my  hand,  and  gives  me  a  shove,  and  sais  he,  '  Go  and  stand  be- 
hind your  master,  Sir,'  sais  he.  Oh,  Solomon !  how  that  waked  me 
up  I  How  I  curled  inwardly  when  he  did 'that!  *  You've  mista- 
ken the  child,'  says  I  mildly,  and  I  held  out  the  napkin,  and  jist  as 
he  went  to  take  it,  I  gave  him  a  sly  poke  in  the  bread  basket,  that 
made  him  bend  forward  and  say  *  eugh.'  *  Wake  Snakes,  and  walk 
your  chalks,'  sais  I,  *  will  you  ?'  and  down  I  pops  on  the  fust  empty 
chair.  Lord,  how  white  he  looked  about  the  gills  arterwards  1  I 
thought  I  should  a  split  when  I  looked  at  him.  Guess  he'll  know 
an  Attache  when  he  sees  him  next  time. 

"  Well,  there  is  dinner.  One  sarvice  of  plate  is  like  another  sar- 
vice  of  plate,  any  one  dozen  of  sarvants  are  like  another  dozen  of 
sarvants,  hock  is  hock,  and  champaigne  is  champaigne — and  one 
dinner  is  like  another  dinner.  The  only  difference  is  in  the  thing 
itself  that's  cooked.  Veal,  to  be  good,  must  look  like  anything  else 
but  veal ;  you  mustn't  know  it  when  you  see  it,  or  it's  vulgar ;  mut- 
ton must  be  incog,  too ;  beef  must  have  a  mask  on  ;  anythin'  that 
looks  solid,  take  a  spoon  to ;  anythin'  that  looks  light,  cut  with  a 
knife  ;  if  a  thing  looks  hke  fsh,  you  may  take  ^our  oath  it  is  fiesh  ; 
and  if  it  seems  rael  flesh,  it's  only  disguised,  for  it's  sure  to  be  fish : 
nothin'  must  be  nateral — natur'  is  out  of  fashion  here.  This  is  a 
manufacturin'  country— everything  is  done  by  machinery,  and  that 
that  ain't  must  be  made  to  look  like  it ;  and  I  must  say,  the  dinner 
machinery  is  parfect. 

**  Sarvants  keep  going  round  and  round  in  a  ring,  slow,  but  sartin, 
and  for  ever,  like  the  arms  of  a  great  big  windmill,  shovin'  dish  after 
dish,  in  dum  show,  afore  your  nose,  for  you  to  see  how  you  like  the 
flavor;  when  your  glass  is  empty,  it'i.  filled;  when  your  eyes  is  off 
your  plate,  it's  off  too,  afore  you  can  say  Nick  Biddle. 

*'  Folks  speak  low  here ;  steam  is  valuable,  and  noise  onpolite. 
They  call  it  a  ' subdued  tone'  Poor  tame  things,  they  are  subdued, 
that's  a  fact ;  slaves  to  an  arbitrary,  tyrannical  fashion,  that  don't  leave 
'em  no  free  will  at  all.  You  don't  often  speak  across  a  table  any  more 
nor  you  do  across  a  street,  but  p'raps  Mr.  Somebody,  of  West  £end 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


97 


of  town,  will  say  to  a  Mr.  Nobody,  from  "West  Eend  of  America : 
*  Niagara  is  noble.'  Mr.  Nobody  will  say,  *  Guess  it  is— it  got  its 
patent  afore  the  "Norman  Conquest"  I  reckon,  and  afore  the 
**  subdued  tone"  come  in  fashion.'  Then  Mr.  Somebody  will  look 
like  an  oracle,  and  say,  *  Great  rivers  and  great  trees  in  America. 
You  speak  good  English.'  And  then  he  will  seem  surprised,  but 
not  say  itn-only  you  can  read  the  words  on  his  face,  '  Upon  my 
soul,  you  are  a'most  as  white  as  us.' 

"  Dinner  is  over.  It's  time  for  ladies  to  cut  stick.  Aunt  Goosey 
looks  at  the  next  oldest  goosey,  and  ducks  her  head,  as  if  she  was 
a  goin'  through  a  gate,  and  then  they  all  come  to  their  feet,  and  the 
goslins  come  to  their  feet,  and  they  all  toddle  off  to  the  drawin'-room 
together. 

"The  decanters  now  take  the  'grand  tour'  of  the  table,  and, 
like  most  travellers,  go  out  with  full  pockets,  and  return  with  empty 
ones.  Talk  has  a  pair  of  stays  here,  and  is  laced  up  tight  and  stiff. 
Lamin'  is  pedantic ;  politics  is  onsafe ;  religion  ain't  fashionable. 
You  must  tread  on  neutral  ground.  Well,  neutral  ground  gets  so 
trampled  down  by  both  sides,  and  so  plundered  by  all,  there  ain't 
anything  fresh  or  good  grows  on  it,  and  it  has  no  cover  for  game 
uother. 

"  Housundever,  the  ground  is  tried,  it's  well  beat,  but  nothin'  is 
put  up,  and  you  get  back  to  where  you  started.  Uncle  Gander 
looks  at  next  oldest  gander  hard,  bobs  his  head,  and  lifts  one  leg 
already  for  a  go,  and  says,  *  Will  you  take  any  more  wine  ?'  *  No,' 
sais  he,  '  but  I  take  the  hint,  let's  jine  the  ladies.' 

"  Well,  when  the  whole  flock  is  gathered  in  the  goose  pastur,  the 
drawin'-room,  other  little  flocks  ccme  troopin'  in,  and  stand,  or  walk, 
or  down  on  chairs ;  and  them  that  know  each  other,  talk,  and  them 
that  don't,  twirl  their  thumbs  over  their  fingers  ;  and  when  they  are 
tired  of  that,  twirl  their  fingers  over  their  thumbs.  I'm  nobody, 
and  so  I  goes  and  sets  side-ways  on  an  ottarman,  like  a  gall  on  a 
side-saddle,  and  look  at  what's  afore  me.  And  fust  I  always  look  at 
the  galls. 

"  Now,  this  I  will  say,  they  are  amazin'  fine  critters  are  the  women 
kind  here,  when  they  are  taken  proper  care  of.  The  English  may 
stump  the  univarse  a'most  for  trainin'  bosses  and  galls.  They  give 
'em  both  plenty  of  walkin'  exercise,  feed  'em  regular,  shoe  *em  well, 
trim  'em  neat,  and  keep  a  beautiful  skin  on  'em.  They  keep  'em  in 
good  health,  and  don't  house  'em  too  much.  They  are  clippers, 
that's  a  fact.  There  is  few  things  in  natur,  equal  to  a  boss  and  a 
gall,  that's  well-trained  and  in  good  condition.  I  could  stand  all  day 
and  look  at  'em,  and  I  call  myself  a  considerable  of  a  judge.  It's 
singular  how  much  they  are  alike,  too,  the  moment  the  trainin'  is 
over  or  neglected,  neither  of  'em  is  fit  to  be  seen ;  they  grow  out  of 
shape,  and  look  coarse. 

5 


98 


.'  ^^HK  ATTACHil;   OR, 


"  They  are  considerable  knowin*  in  this  kind  o*  ware  too,  are  the 
English ;  they  vamp  'em  up  so  well,  it's  hard  to  tell  their  age,  and  I 
ain't  sure  they  don't  make  'em  live  longer,  than  where  the  art  ain't 
so  well  pTBCtited.  The  mark  o'  mouth  is  kept  up  in  a  hoss  here  by 
the  file,  and  a  hay-cutter  saves  his  teeth,  and  helps  his  digestion. 
Well,  a  dentist  does  the  same  good  turn  for  a  woman  ;  it  makes  her 
pass  for  several  years  younger,  and  helps  her  looks,  mends  her  voice, 
and  makes  her  as  smart  as  a  three  year  old. 

"  What's  that  ?  It's  music  Well,  that's  artificial  too,  it's  scientific 
they  say,  it's  done  by  rule.  Jist  look  at  that  gall  to  the  piany ;  first 
comes  a  little  Garman  thunder.  Good  earth  and  seas,  what  a  crash ! 
it  seems  as  if  she'd  bang  the  instrument  to  a  thousand  pieces.  I 
guess  she's  vexed  at  somebody  and  is  a  peggin'  it  into  the  piany  out 
of  spite.  Now  comes  the  singin' :  see  what  faces  she  makes,  how 
she  stretches  her  mouth  open,  like  a  bam  door,  and  turns  up  the 
white  of  her  eyes,  like  a  duck  in  thunder.  She  is  in  a  musical 
ecstacy  is  that  gaU,  she  feels  good  all  ovet,  her  soul  is  a  goin'  out 
along  with  that  ere  music.  Oh  it's  divine,  and  uhe  is  an  angel,  ain't 
she  ?  Yes,  I  guess  she  is,  and  when  I  am  an  angel,  I  wUl  fall  in 
love  with  her ;  but  as  I  am  a  man,  at  least  what's  left  of  me,  I'd  jist 
as  soon  fall  in  love  with  one  that  was  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle  more  of  i 
woman,  and  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle  less  of  an  angel.  But  hullo !  what 
onder  the  sun  is  she  about,  why  her  voice  is  goin*  down  her  own 
throat,  to  gain  strength,  and  here  it  comes  out  agin  as  deep  toned  as 
a  man's ;  while  that  dandy  feller  along  side  of  her,  is  singin'  what 
they  call  falsetter.  They've  actilly  changed  voices.  The  ^1  sings 
like  a  man,  and  that  screamer  like  a  woman.  This  is  science  :  this 
is  taste :  this  is  fashion :  but  hang  me  if  it's  natur.  I'm  tired  to 
death  of  it,  but  one  good  thing  is,  you  needn't  listen  without  you 
like,  for  every  body  is  talking  as  loud  as  ever. 

^  Lord,  how  extremes  meet,  sometimes,  as  Minister  says,  fferej 
now,  fashion  is  the  top  of  the  pot,  and  that  pot  hangs  on  the  highest 
hook  on  the  crane.  In  America,  natur  can't  go  on  no  farther ;  it's  the 
raal  thing.  Look  at  the  women  kind,  now.  An  Indgian  gall,  down 
South,  goes  most  naked.  Well,  a  splendiferous  company  gall,  here, 
when  she  is  ftdl  dressed  is  only  half  covered,  and  neither  of  'em 
attract  you  one  mite  or  morsel.  We  dine  at  two,  and  sup  at  f>even ; 
here  they  lunch  at  two,  and  dine  at  seven.  The  words  are  difierent, 
but  they  are  identical  the  same.  Well,  the  singin'  is  amazin'  like, 
too.  Who  ever  heerd  them  Italian  singers  recitin*  their  jabber, 
showin'  their  teeth,  and  cuftin'  didoes  at  a  great  private  consart,  that 
wouldn't  take  his  oath  he  had  heerd  niggers  at  a  dignity  ball,  down 
South,  sing  jist  the  same,  and  jist  a<^  well.  And  then  do,  for  good- 
ness' gracious'  sake,  hear  that  great  absent  man,  belongin'  to  the 
House  o'  Commons,  when  the  chaplain  says,  *  Let  us  pray  1'  sing 
right  out  at  once,  as  if  he  was  to  home,  '  Oh,  by  all  means,'  as 


\ 


i 


8A1C  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


99 


how 


mnch  as  to  say,  *me  and  the  powers  above  are  ready  to  hear  you ; 
but  don't  be  long  about  it' 

*^  Ain't  that  for  all  the  world  like  a  camp-meetin',  when  a  refdrm- 
ed  ring-tail  roarer  calls  out  to  the  minister,  '  That's  a  fact,  Welly 
Fobus,  by  Gosh ;  amen !'  or  when  preacher  says,  *  Who  will  be  saved  ?' 
answers,  *  Me  and  the  boys,  throw  us  a  hencoop ;  the  galls  will  drift 
down  stream  on  a  bale  o*  cotton.*  Well,  then,  our  very  lowest,  and 
their  very  highest,  don't  always  act  pretty,  that's  a  fact.  S<»netimes 
*  they  repudiate*    Yc  j  take,  don't  you  ? 

"  There  is  another  party  to-night ;  the  flock  is  a  thinnin'  off  agin ; 
and  as  I  want  a  cigar  most  amazin'ly,  let's  go  to  a  divan,  and  some 
other  time,  FIl  tell  you  what  a  swoir«0  is.  But  answer  me  this  here 
question  now.  Squire :  when  this  same  thing  is  acted  over  and  over, 
day  after  day,  and  no  variation,  from  July  to  etamity,  don't  you 
think  you'd  get  a  leetle — jist  a  leetle  more  tired  of  it  every  day,  and 
wish  for  natnr  once  more.    If  yon  wouldn't  I  would,,  that's  all." 


V 


wl 


Him  tma  ^ni'V     .n-iiHm'^<,ifi  i-v-w^  'i"  ^t.,,.. 

]  u  u  ah  jv.a  Jr.si.  .<»     CHAPTER  XVIJ'""'^  ■*■  ^  ?^.  ^^  ^'■''^ 
•''^'   ■'  THE    NOSE    OP    A    SPY. 


■Ai 


em 


ti  {  «  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  you  know  Sam  well  enough,  I 
hope,  to  make  all  due  allowances  for  the  exuberance  of  his  fancy. 
The  sketch  he  has  just  given  you  of  London  society,  like  the  novels 
of  the  present  day,  though  founded  on  fact,  is  very  unlike  the  reality. 
There  may  be  ...^emblages  of  persons  in  this  great  city,  and  no 
doubt  there  are,  quite  as  insipid  And  absurd  as  the  one  he  has  just 
portrayed ;  but  you  must  not  suppose  it  is  at  all  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  society  of  this  place.  My  own  experience  is  quite  the  reverse. 
I  think  it  the  most  refined,  the  most  agreeable,  and  the  most  instruc- 
tive in  the  world.  Whatever  your  favorite  study  or  pursuit  may 
be,  here  you  are  sure  to  find  well-informed  and  enthusiastic  asso- 
ciates. If  you  have  merit,  it  is  appreciated ;  and  for  an  aristocratic 
country,  that  merit  places  you  on  a  level  with  your  superiors  in  rank 
in  a  manner  that  is  quite  incomprehensible  to  a  republican.  Money 
is  the  great  leveller  of  distinctions  with  us  :  here  it  is  talent.  Fashion 
spreads  many  tables  here ;  but  talent  is  always  found  seated  at  the 
best,  if  it  thinks  proper  to  comply  mtb.  certain  usages,  without  wl  :ch 
even  genius  ceases  to  be  attractive. 

"  On  some  future  occasion  I  will  enter  more  at  large  on  this  sub- 
ject {  but  now  it  is  too  late ;  I  have  already  exceeded  my  usual 
hoar  for  retiring.    Excuse  me,  Sam,**  said  he,  ^  I  know  vou  will 


^mr^wm 


100 


THB  ATTACH^;  OR, 


I 


not  be  offended  with  me ;  but,  Squire,  there  are  some  subjects  on 
which  Sam  may  amuse,  but  cannot  instruct  you  ;  and  one  is,  fashion- 
able  life  in  London.  You  must  judge  for  yourself,  Sir.  Good 
night,  my  children." 

Mr.  Slick  rose,  and  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  as  he  passed, 
bowed,  and  held  out  his  hand,  "  Remember  me,  your  honor ;"  no 
man  opens  the  door  in  this  country  without  being  paid  for  it,  "  Re- 
member me,  Sir." 

"  True,  Sam,"  said  the  Minister ;  «  and  it  is  unlucky  that  it  does 
not  extend  to  opening  the  mouth ;  if  it  did,  you  would  soon  make 
your  fortune,  for  you  can't  keep  yours  shut.     Good  night." 

The  society  to  which  I  have  subsequently  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  admitted,  fully  justifies  the  eulogium  of  Mr.  Hopewell.  Though 
many  persons  can  write  well,  few  can  talk  well ;  but  the  number  of 
those  who  excel  in  conversation  is  much  greater  in  certain  circles  in 
London  than  in  any  other  place.  By  talking  well,  I  do  not  mean 
talking  wisely  or  learnedly,  but  agreeably ;  for  relaxation  and  plea- 
sure are  the  principal  objects  of  social  assemblies.  This  can  only 
be  illustrated  by  instancing  some  very  remarkable  persons,  who  are 
the  pride  ana  pleasure  of  every  table  they  honor  and  delight  with 
their  presence.  But  this  may  not  be.  For  obvious  reasons,  I  could 
not  do  it  if  I  would ;  and  most  assuredly,  I  would  not  do  it  if  I 
could.  No  more  certain  mode  could  be  devised  of  destroying  con- 
versation, than  by  showing,  that  when  the  citadel  is  unguarded,  the 
approach  of  a  friend  is  as  unsafe  as  that  of  an  enemy. 

Alas  !  poor  Hook  !  who  can  read  the  unkind  notice  of  thee  in  a 
late  periodical,  and  not  feel  that  on  some  occasions  you  must  have 
admitted  to  your  confidence  men  who  were  as  unworthy  of  that  dis- 
tinction as  they  were  incapable  of  appreciating  it ;  and  that  they 
.  who  will  disregard  the  privileges  of  a  table,  will  not  hesitate  to  vio- 
late even  the  sanctity  of  the  tomb.     Cant  may  talk  of  your  "  inter 
poctUa"  errors  with  pious  horror;  and  pretension,  now  that  its 
.  indulgence  is  safe,  may  affect  to  disclaim  your  acquaintance ;  but 
.  kinder,  and  better,  and  truer  men  than  those  who  furnished  your 
^  biographer  with  his  facts  will  not  fail  to  recollect  your  talents  with 
.  pride,  and  your  wit  and  your  humor  with  wonder  and  dehght 

We  do  not  require  such  flagrant  examples  as  these  to  teach  us 
our  duty,  but  they  are  not  without  their  use  in  increasing  our  cau- 
tion. 

When  Mr.  Hopewell  withdrew,  Mr.  Slick  observed : 

''  Ain't  that  ere  old  man  a  trump  ?  He  is  always  in  the  right 
place.  Whenever  you  want  to  find  him,  jist  go  and  look  for  him 
where  he  ought  to  be,  and  there  you  will  find  him  as  sure  as  there 
is  snakes  in  Varginy.  He  is  a  brick,  that's  a  fact.  Still,  for  all 
that,  he  ain't  jist  altogether  a  citizen  of  this  world,  nother.  He 
.  fishes  in  deep  water,  with  a  sinker  to  his  hook.    He  can't  throw  a 


4| 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


1 

lOX 


flj  as  I  can,  reel  out  his  line,  run  down  stream,  and  then  wind  up^ 
wind  up,  wind  up,  and  let  out,  and  wind  up  again,  till  he  lands  his 
fish,  as  I  do.  He  looks  deep  into  things,  is  a  better  religionist,  poli- 
titioner,  and  bookster  than  I  be  :  but  then  that's  all  he  does  know. 
If  you  want  to  find  your  way  about,  or  read  a  man,  come  to  me, 
that's  all ;  for  I'm  the  boy  that  jist  can  do  it.  If  I  can't  walk  into 
a  man,  I  can  dodge  round  him  ;  and  if  he  is  too  nimble  for  that,  I 
can  jump  over  him ;  and  if  he  is  too  tall  for  that,  although  I  don't 
like  the  play,  yet  I  can  whip  him. 

"  Now,  Squire,  I  have  been  a  good  deal  to  England,  and  crossed 
this  big  pond  here  the  matter  of  seven  times,  and  know  a  good  deal 
about  it,  more  than  a  great  many  folks  that  have  writtin'  books  on 
it,  p'raps.  Mind  what  I  tell  you,  the  English  ain't  what  they  was. 
I'm  not  speakin'  in  jeest  now,  or  in  prejudice.  I  hante  a  grain  of 
prejudice  in  me.  I've  seed  too  much  of  the  world  for  that,  I 
reckon.  I  call  myself  a  candid  man,  and  I  tell  you  the  English  are 
no  more  like  what  the  English  used  to  be,  when  pigs  were  swine, 
and  turkies  chawed  tobacky,  than  they  are  like  the  Picts  or  Scots, 
or  Norman,  French,  or  Saxons,  or  nothin'." 

"Not  what  they  used  to  be?"  I  said.  "Pray,  what  do  yoa 
mean  ?'* 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  "jist  what  I  say.  They  ain't  the  same  peo- 
ple no  more.  They  are  as  proud,  and  overbeariu',  and  concait^d, 
and  haughty  to  foreigners  as  ever ;  but  then,  they  ain't  so  manly, 
open-hearted,  and  noble  as  they  used  to  be,  oncte  upon  a  time. 
They  have  the  Spy  System  now  in  full  operation  here ;  so  jist  take 
my  advice,  and  mind  your  potatoe-trap,  or  you  will  be  in  trouble 
afore  you  are  ten  days  older,  see  if  you  ain't." 

"  The  Spy  System  I"  I  replied.  "  Good  heavens,  Mr.  Slick,  how 
can  you  taUc  such  nonsense,  and  yet  have  the  modesty  to  say  yoa 
have  no  prejudice  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  Spy  System,"  said  he,  "  and  FU  prove  it.  You  krow 
Dr.  Mc'Dougall  to  Nova  Scotia :  well,  he  knows  all  about  mineral- 
ogy, and  geology,  and  astrology,  and  everything  a'most,  except  what 
be  ought  to  know,  and  that  is  dollar-ology.  For  he  ain't  over  and 
above  half  w«ll  ofi^,  that's  a  fact.  Well,  a  critter  of  the  name  of 
Oatmeal,  down  to  Pictou,  said  to  another  Scotchman  there  one  day, 
'  The  great  nateralist.  Dr.  Mc'Dougall,  is  come  to  tovm.* 

"  *  Who  ?  says  Sawney.  i 

« <  Dr.  Mc'Dougall,  the  nateralist,'  says  Oatmeal.  ' 

"'Hout,  mon,'  says  Sawney,  *he  is  nae  nateral,  that  chiel; 
he  kens  mair  than  maist  men ;  be  is  nae  that  fool  you  take  him 
to  be." 

"Now,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  you  take  tne  to  be.  Squire* 
Whenever  I  did  a  sum  to  school.  Minister  used  to  say,  *  Prove  it, 
Sam,  and  if  it  won't  prove,  do  it  over  agin,  till  it  will ;  a  sum  ain't 


^r^ 


^^^ 


■^^ 


102 


THK  ATTACH^;  OR, 


right  when  it  won't  prove.'  Now,  I  say  the  English  have  the  Spy 
System,  and  I'll  prove  it ;  nay,  more  than  that,  they  have  the  nas- 
tiest, dirtiest,  meanest,  sneakenest  system  in  the  world.  It  is  ten 
times  as  bad  as  the  French  plan.  In  France  they  have  bar-keep- 
ers, waiters,  chamber  galls,  guides,  quotillions, — " 

"  Postillions,  you  mean,"  I  said.  '|  'w.l  :  Uu  ,jjt.<t 

^  Well,  postillions  then,  for  the  French  have  queer  names  for 
people,  that's  a  fact ;  disbanded  sodgers,  and  such  trash,  for  spies. 
In  England  they  have  airls  and  countesses.  Parliament  men,  and 
them  that  call  themselves  gentlemen  and  ladies,  for  spies."       /;;  •• 

"  How  very  absurd  !"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  very  absurd,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  Whenever  I  say  any- 
thin'  agin  England,  it's  very  absurd,  it's  all  prejudice.  Nothin'  is 
strange,  though,  when  it  is  said  of  us,  and  the  absurder  it  is,  the 
traer  it  is.  I  can  bam  as  well  as  any  man  when  bam  is  the  word ; 
but  when  fhct  is  the  play,  I  am  right  up  and  down,  and  tru^  a^  f^ 
trivet.    I  won't  deceive  you ;  I'll  prove  it.     i,n  ,i,  ,,>»,„„  ..„ 

^  There  was  a  Kurnel  Dun— dun — ^plague  take  his  name,  I  can't 
recollect  it,  but  it  makes  no  odds — I  know  he  is  Done  for,  though, 
that's  a  fact  Well,  he  was  a  British  kurnel,  that  was  out  to  Hali- 
fax when  I  was  there.  I  know'd  him  by  sight,  I  don't  know  him 
by  talk,  for  I  didn't  fill  then  the  dignified  situation  I  now  do,  of 
Attach^.  I  was  only  a  clockmaker  then,  and  I  suppose  he  wouldn't 
have  dirtied  the  tip  eend  of  his  white  glove  with  me  then,  any 
more  than  I  would  sile  mine  with  him  now ;  and  very  expensive 
and  troublesome  things  them  white  gloves  be,  too ;  there  is  no 
keepin'  of  them  clean.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  why  a  man  can't 
make  his  own  skin  as  clean  as  a  kid's,  any  time ;  and  if  a  feller 
can't  be  let  shake  hands  with  a  gall  exc^t  he  has  a  glove  on,  why 
ain't  he  made  to  cover  his  lips,  and  kiss  thro'  his  kid  skin  too  ? 

**  But  to  get  back  to  the  kumA,  and  it's  a  pity  he  hadn't  had  a 
glove  over  hit  mouth,  that's  a  fact.  Well,  he  went  home  to  Eng- 
land with  his  regiment,  and  one  night  when  he  was  dinin'  among 
some  first  chop  men,  nobles  and  so  on,  they  sot  up  considerable  late 
over  their  claret ;  and  poor  thin  cold  stuif  it  is,  too,  is  claret.  A 
man  may  get  drowned  in  it,  but  how  the  plague  he  can  get  drunk 
with  it,  is  hard  to  me.  It's  like  everything  else  French,  it  has  no 
substance  in  it ;  it's  nothin'  bat  red  ink,  that's  a  &ct.  Well,  how 
it  was  I  don't  know,  but  so  it  eventuated,  that  about  daylight  he 
was  mops  and  brooms,  and  began  to  talk  somethin'  or  another  he 
hadn't  ought  to ;  somethin'  he  didn't  know  himself,  and  somethin' 
he  didn't  mean,  and  didn't  remember. 

"  Faith,  next  momin'  he  was  booked ;  and  the  first  thing  he  see'd 
when  he  waked  was  another  man  a  tryin'  on  of  his  shoes,  to  see  how 
they'd  fit  to  march  to  the  head  of  his  regiment  with.  Fact,  I  as- 
sure you,  and  a  fact  too  tha^  shiQW^  vrh^  ^^^lisl^uueh  h^s  9^pi^  j^^ 


SAM  SLIOK  IN  BNGLAND. 


108 


I  despise  'em,  I  hate  'em,  I  scorn  such  crittera  as  I  do  oncarcnm-i 
cized  niggers." 

"  What  a  strange  perversion  of  facts !"  I  replied.  ■  M 

But  he  would  admit  of  no  explanation.  "  Oh  yes,  quite  par- 
varted  ;  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it ;  there  never  is  when  England  is 
eonsamed.  There  is  no  beam  in  an  Englishman's  eye ;  no,  not  a 
smell  of  one }  he  has  pulled  it  out  long  ago ;  that's  the  reason  he 
can  see  the  mote  in  other  folks's  so  plain.  Oh,  of  course  it  ain't 
true ;  it's  a  Yankee  invention ;  it's  a  hickory  ham  and  a  woodep 
nutmeg.  * 

"  Well,  then,  there  was  another  feller  got  bagged  t'other  day,  as 
innocent  as  could  be,  for  givin'  his  opinion  when  folks  was  a  talkin' 
about  matters  and  things  in  gineral,  and  this  here  one  in  partikilar. 
I  can't  tell  the  words,  for  I  don't  know  'em,  nor  care  about  'em ; 
and  if  I  did,  I  couldn't  carry  'em  about  so  long ;  but  it  was  for 
fiayin'  it  hadn't  ought  to  have  been  taken  notice  of,  considerin'  it 
jist  popt  out  permiscuoas  like  with  the  bottle-cork.  If  he  hadn't  a 
had  the  clear  grit  in  him,  and  show'd  teeth  and  claws,  they'd  a  nul- 
lified him  so,  you  wouldn't  have  see'd  a  grease  spot  of  him  no  more. 
What  do  you  call  that,  now  ?  Do  you  call  that  liberty  ?  Do  you 
call  that  old  English  ?  Do  you  call  it  pretty — say,  now  ?  Thank 
God,  it  tante  Yankee."  '. 

"  I 'see  you  have  no  prejudice,  Mr.  Slick,"  I  replied. 

"  Not  one  mite  or  morsel,"  he  said.  "  Tho'  I  was  bom  in  Con- 
necticut, I  have  travelled  all  over  the  thirteen  united  universal 
worlds  of  oum,  and  am  a  citizen  at  large.  No,  I  have  no  preju- 
dice. You  say  I  am  mistakend ;  p'raps  I  am,  I  hope  I  be,  and  a 
stranger  may  get  hold  of  the  wrong  eend  of  a  thing,  sometimes, 
that's  a  £i,et.  But  I  don't  think  I  be  wrong,  or  else  the  papers  don't 
tell  the  truth ;  and  I  read  it  in  all  the  jamais ;  I  did,  upon  my  soul. 
Why,  man,  it's  history  now,  if  such  nasty  mean  doins  is  worth  put- 
tin'  into  a  book. 

"  What  makes  this  Spy  System  to  England  wuss,  is  that  these 
eaves-droppers  are  obliged  to  hear  all  that's  said,  or  lose  what  com- 
mission they  hold ;  at  least  so  folks  tell  me.  I  recollect  when  I 
was  there  last,  for  it's  some  years  'nee  Government  first  sot  up 
the  Spy  System ;  there  was  a  great  feed  given  to  a  Mr.  Bobe,  or 
Bobie,  cae  some  such  name,  an  out  and  out  Tory.  Well,  sunthin' 
or  anoUxer  was  said  over  their  cups,  that  might  as  well  have  been 
let  alone,  I  do  suppose — ^tho',  dear  me,  what  is  the  use  of  wine  but 
to  onloos^i  the  tongue,  and  what  is  the  use  of  the  tongue,  but  to 
talk  ?  Oh,  cuss  'em,  I  have  no  patience  with  them.  Well,  there 
was  an  officer  of  a  marchin'  regiment  there,  who  it  seems  ought  to 
have  took  down  the  words  and  sent  'em  up  to  the  head  Gineral ;  but 
he  was  a  knowin'  coon,  was  officer,  and  diebi,*t  hear  it.  No  sooner 
said  thaa  done ;  soioe  one  else  did  the  dirtv  work  for  him ;  but  you 


104 


THI  ATTACH^;  OR, 


can't  have  a  substitute  for  this,  you  must  sarve  in  person ;  so  the 
old  Gincral  hawls  him  right  up  for  it. 
" '  Why  the  plague  didn't  you  make  a  fuss  ?'  sais  the  GeneraL 

*  Why  didn't  you  get  right  up,  and  break  up  the  paily  V 

*' '  I  didn't  hear  it,'  sais  he. 

^  *  Yon  didn't  hear  it  I'  sais  Old  Swordbelt.  <  Then  you  had 
ought  to  have  heerd  it ;  and  for  two  pins,  I'd  sharpen  your  hearin' 
for  you,  80  that  a  snore  of  a  fly  would  wake  you  up,  as  if  a  byler 
had  bust.' 

"  Oh,*how  it  has  lowered  the  English  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners ! 
How  sneakin'  it  makes  'em  look  I  Tliey  seem  for  all  the  world  like 
scared  dogs ;  and  a  dog,  when  he  slopes  off  with  his  head  down,  his 
tail  atween  his  legs,  and  his  back  so  mean  it  won't  bristle,  is  a  cau- 
tion to  sinners.    Lord,  I  wish  I  was  Queen  1" 

"  What,  of  such  a  degraded  race  as  you  say  the  English  are— of 
such  a  mean-spirited,  sneaking  nation  ?"• 

"  Well,  they  warn't  always  so,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  say  that,  for 
I  have  no  prejudice.  By  natur,  there  is  snnthin'  noble  and  manly 
in  a  Britisher,  and  always  was,  till  this  cussed  Spy  System  got  into 
fashion.  They  tell  me  it  was  the  Liberals  firat  brought  it  into 
vogue.  How  that  is,  I  don't  know;  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was 
them,  for  I  know  this,  if  a  feller  talks  very  liberal  in  politics,  put 
him  into  office,  and  see  what  a  tyrant  he'll  make.  If  he  talks  very 
liberal  in  religion,  it's  because  he  hante  got  none  at  all.  If  he  talks 
very  liberal  to  the  poor,  talk  is  all  the  poor  will  ever  get  out  of 
him.  If  he  talks  liberal  about  com  law,  it  tante  to  feed  the  hun- 
gry, but  to  lower  wf^s,  and  so  on  in  everything  a'most.  None  is 
so  liberal  as  those  as  hante  got  nothin'..  The  most  liberal  feller  I 
know  on  is  *  Old  Scratch  himself.'  If  ever  the  liberals  come  in, 
they  should  make  him  Prime  Minister.  He  is  very  liberal  in  reli- 
gion, and  would  jine  them  in  excludin*  the  Bible  from  common 
schools,  I  know.  He  is  very  liberal  about  the  criminal  code,  for 
he  can't,  bear  to  see  criminals  punished.  He  is  very  liberal  in  poli- 
tics, for  he  don't  approbate  restraint,  and  likes  to  let  every  critter 

*  go  to  the  devil'  Ms  own  way.    Oh,  he  should  be  Head  Spy  and 
Prime  Minister,  that  feller. 

"  But  without  jokin',  tho',  if  I  was  Queen,  the  fiist  time  any  o' 
my  ministers  came  to  me  to  report  what  the  spies  had  said,  I'd  just 
up  and  say,  *  Minister,'  I'd  say,  '  it's  a  cussed  oninglish,  <mmamy, 
niggerly  business,  is  this  of  pnmpin',  and  spyin',  and  tattlin'.  I 
don't  like  it  a  bit.  I'll  have  neither  art  nor  part  in  it ;  I  wash  my 
hands  clear  of  it.  It  will  jist  break  the  spirit  of  my  people.  So, 
Minister,  look  here.  The  next  report  that  is  brought  to  me  of  a 
spy,  I'll  whip  his  tongue  out  and  whop  your  ear  off,  or  my  name 
ain't  Queen.  So  jist  mind  what  I  say;  first  spy  pokes  his  nose  into 
your  office,  chop  it  off  and  clap  it  up  over  Temple  Bar,  where  they 


SAM  SLICK  IN  INOLANd. 


105 


puts  the  heads  of  traitors,  and  write  these  words  oyer  it,  with  jonr 
own  fist,  that  they  may  know  the  handwritin',  and  not  mistake  the 
meanin' — *  This  u  the  no§e  of  a  Spy*  ** 

-•J*T  •"iVOt*.  \  r^  XT   k   "D  rni>  -O       •VTTTT  IT»HOl)  lil'Xhl 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


THE    PATRON;    OR,    THE    COW'S    TAIL. 


.t,..t.. 


Nothing  is  so  fatiguing  as  sight-seeing.  The  number  and  ya« 
riety  of  objects  to  which  your  attention  is  called,  and  the  rapid  suc- 
cession in  which  they  pass  in  reyiew,  at  once  wearies  and  perplexes 
the  mind ;  and  unless  you  take  notes  to  refresh  your  memory,  ycu 
are  apt  to  find  you  carry  awaj  with  you  but  an  imperfect  and  indis- 
tinct recollection. 

Yesterday  was  devoted  to  an  inspection  of  the  Tunnel  and  an 
examination  of  the  Tower,  two  things  that  ought  always  to  be 
viewed  in  juxta-position ;  one  being  the  greatest  evidence  of  the 
science  and  wealth  of  modem  times,  and  the  other  of  the  power  and 
pomp  of  our  forefathers. 

It  is  a  long  time  before  a  stranger  can  fully  appreciate  the  extent . 
of  population  and  wealth  of  this  vast  metropolis.  At  first,  he  is 
astonished  and  confused ;  his  vision  is  indistinct.  By  degrees  he 
begins  to  understand  its  localities,  the  ground  plan  becomes  intelli- 
gible, and  he  can  take  it  ifll  in  at  one  view.  The  map  is  a  large 
one ;  it  is  a  chart  of  the  world.  He  knows  the  capes  and  the  bays ; 
he  has  sailed  round  them,  and  knows  their  relative  distance,  and  at 
last  becomes  aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the  whole.  Object  after 
object  becomes  more  familiar.  He  can  estimate  the  population ; 
he  compares  the  amount  of  it  with  that  of  countries  that  he  is  ac- 
quainted with,  and  finds  that  this  one  town  contains  within  it  nearly 
as  great  a  number  of  souls  as  all  British  North  America.  He  esti- 
mates the  incomes  of  the  inhabitants,  and  finds  figures  almost  inade- 
quate to  express  the  amount  He  asks  for  the  source  from  whence 
it  is  derived.  He  resorts  to  his  maxims  of  political  economy,  and 
they  cannot  inform  him.  He  calculates  the  number  of  acres  of  land 
in  England,  adds  up  the  rental,  and  is  again  at  fault.  He  inquires 
into  the  statistics  of  the  Exchange,  and  discovers  that  even  that  is 
inadequate ;  and,  as  a  last  resource,  concludes  that  the  whole  world 
is  tributary  to  this  Queen  of  Cities.  It  is  the  heart  of  the  Uni- 
verse. All  the  circulation  centres  here,  and  hence  are  derived  all 
those  streams  that  give  life  and  strength  to  the  extremities.  How 
vast,  how  populous,  how  rich,  how  well  regulated,  how  well  supplied, 

5* 


7 


106 


THS  ATTAOHJ§!;  OB^ 


how  clean,  how  well  ventilated,  how  healthy  t— what  a  splendid  cityl 
How  worUiy  of  such  an  empire  and  such  a  people  I 

What  is  the  result  of  his  experience  ?  Itisy  that  then  is  no  mch 
country  in  the  world  as  England^  and  no  such  place  in  England  as 
London  ;  thai  London  is  better  than  any  other  town  in  winter^  and 
quite  as  good  as  any  other  place  in  summer;  that  containing  not  only 
aU  that  he  requires^  hut  aU  that  he  can  wish,  in  the  greatest  perfectiony 
he  desires  never  to  leave  it. 

Local  description,  however,  is  not  my  ohjeet ;  I  shall  therefore  re- 
turn to  my  narrative. 

Our  examination  of  the  Tower  and  the  Tunnel  occupied  the 
whole  day,  and  though  much  gratified,  we  were  no  less  fatigued.  On 
returning  to  our  lodgings,  I  found  letters  from  Nova  Scotia.  Among 
others,  was  one  from  the  widow  of  an  old  friend,  enclosing  a  memo- 
rial to  the  Commander-in-Chief,  setting  forth  the  important  and 
gratuitous  services  of  her  late  hushand  to  the  local  government  of 
the  province,  and  soliciting  for  her  son  some  email  situation  in  the 
ordnance  department,  which  had  just  fallen  vacant  at  Halifax.  I 
knew  that  it  was  not  only  out  of  my  power  to  aid  her,  but  that  it 
was  impossible  for  her,  however  strong  the  claims  of  her  husband 
might  be,  to  obtain  her  request.  These  things  are  required  for 
friends  and  dependants  in  England ;  and  in  the  race  of  competition, 
what  chance  of  success  has  a  colonist  ? 

I  made  up  my  mind  at  once  to  forward  her  memorial  as  requested, 
but  pondered  on  the  propriety  of  adding  to  it  a  recommendation.  It 
could  do  no  good.  At  most,  it  .would  only  be  the  certificate  of  an 
unknown  man ;  of  one  who  had  neither  of  the  two  great  qualifica- 
tions, namely,  county  or  parliamentary  interest,  bu^  H  might  do  harm. 
It  might,  by  engendering  ridicule  from  the  insolence  of  office,  weaken 
a  daim,  otherwise  well  founded.  "  Who  the  devil  is  this  Mr.  Tho- 
mas Poker,  that  recommends  the  prayer  of  the  petition  ?  The  fel- 
low imagines  all  the  world,  must  have  heard  of  him.  A  droll  fellow 
that,  I  take  it  from  his  name ;  but  all  colonists  are  queer  fellows,  eh?" 

"■  Bad  news  from  home  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick,  who  had  noticed  my  ab- 
straction. "  No  screw  loose  there,  I  hope.  You  don't  look  as  if 
you  liked  the  4avor  of  that  ere  nut  ^ou  are  crackln'  o£  Who's  dead? 
and  what  is  to  pay  now  ?" 

I  read  the  letter  and  the  memorial,  and  then  explained  from  my 
own  knowledge  how  numerous  and  how  valuable  were  the  services 
of  my  deceased  friend,  and  expressed  my  regret  at  not  being  able  to 
serve  the  memorialist. 

"Poor  woman !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  " I  pity  her.  A  colonist  has 
no  chance  for  these  things ;  they  have  no  patron.  In  this  country 
merit  will  always  obtain  a  patron — in  the  provinces  never.  The 
English  are  a  noble-minded,  generous  people,  and  whoever  here  de- 
serves encouragement  or  reward,  is  certain  to  obtain  either  or  both : 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


107 


I  .< 


but  it  must  be  a  brilliant  man,  indeed,  whose  light  can  be  perceived 
across  the  Atlantic." 

"  I  entertain,  Sir,"  I  said,  "  a  very  strong  prejudice  against  rely- 
ing on  patrons.  Dr.  Johnson,  after  a  long  and  fruitless  attendance 
on  Lord  Chesterfield,  says :  *  Seven  years,  my  Lora,  have  now  past 
since  I  waited  in  your  outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed  from  your 
door ;  during  which  time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work,  through 
difficulties,  of  which  it  is  useless  to  complain,  and  have  brought  it  at 
last  to  the  verge  of  publication,  without  one  act  of  assistance,  one 
word  of  encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favor.  Such  treatment  I 
did  not  expect,  for  I  never  had  a  patron  before.' "         •  •  .rf ,, 

"  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  a  man  who  feels  that  he  is  wrong,  is 
always  angry  with  somebody  else.  Dr.  Johnson  is  not  so  much  to 
be  admired  for  the  independence  that  dictated  that  letter,  as  con- 
demned for  the  meanness  and  servility  of  seven  years  of  voluntary 
degradation.  It  is  no  wonder  he  spoke  with  bitterness ;  for,  while 
he  censured  his  Lordship,  he  must  have  despised  himself.  There  is 
a  great  difference  between  a  literary  and  political  patron.  The  for- 
mer is  not  needed,  and  a  man  does  better  without  one ;  the  latter  is 
essential.  A  good  book,  like  good  wine,  needs  no  bush ;  but  to  get 
an  office,  you  want  merits  or  patrons ;  merits  so  great,  that  they  can- 
not be  passed  over,  or  friends  so  powerful,  they  cannot  be  refused." 

"  Oh !  you  can't  do  nothiu',  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  send  it  back 
to  Old  Marm :  tell  her  you  have  the  misfortin  to  be  a  colonist ;  that 
if  her  son  would  like  to  be  a  constable,  or  a  hogreave,  or  a  thistle- 
viewer,  or  sunthin'  or  another  of  that  kind,  you  are  her  man :  but 
she  has  got  the  wrong  cow  by  the  tail  this  time.  I  never  hear  of  a 
patron,  I  don't  think  of  a  frolic  I  once  had  with  a  cow's  tail ;  and,  by 
hanging  on  to  it  like  a  snappin'  turtle,  I  jist  saved  my  life,  that's  a 
fact. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Squire,  take  a  fool's  advice,  for  once.  Here 
you  are ;  I  have  made  you  considerable  well-known,  that's  a  fact ; 
and  will  introduce  you  to  court,  to  king  and  queen,  or  any  body  you 
please.  For  our  legation,  though  they  can't  dance,  p'raps,  as  well 
as  the  French  one  can,  could  set  all  Europe  a  dancin'  in  wide  awake 
airnest,  if  it  chose.  They  darsent  refuse  us  nothin',  or  we  would 
fust  embargo,  and  then  go  to  war.  Any  one  you  want  to  know,  I'll 
give  you  the  ticket.  Look  round,  select  a  good  critter,  and  hold  on 
to  the  tail,  for  dear  life,  &jA  see  if  you  hante  a  patron,  worth  havin'. 
You  don't  want  none  yourself,  but  you  might  want  one  some  time  or 
another,  for  them  that's  a  coming  arter  you.       •.'  pA.'ih'iVv-  ot  1 

"  When  I  was  a  half  grow'd  lad,  the  bears  came  down  from  Nor- 
West  one  year  in  droves,  as  a  body  might  say,  and  our  woods  near 
Slickville  was  jist  full  of  'em.  It  wam't  safe  to  go  a  wanderin'  about 
there  a  doin'  of  nothin',  I  tell  you.  Well,  one  a^  u>nioon  father  sends 
me  into  the  back  pastur',  to  bring  home  the  cows.    <  And,'  says  he, 


I^W 


108 


THB  ATTACffife;  OR, 


'  keep  a  stirrin',  Sam,  go  ahead  right  away,  and  be  out  of  the  bushes 
afore  sunset,  on  account  of  the  bears,  for  that's  about  the  varmints' 
supper-time/ 

*'  Well,  I  looks  to  the  sky,  and  I  sees  it  was  a  considerable  of  a 
piece  yet  to  daylight  down,  so  I  begins  to  pick  strawberries  as  I  goes 
along,  and  you  never  see  anything  so  thick  as  they  were,  and  wher- 
ever the  grass  was  long,  they'd  stand  up  like  a  little  bush,  and  hang 
in  clusters,  most  as  big  and  twice  as  good,  to  my  likin',  as  garden 
ones.  Well,  the  sun,  it  appears  to  me,  is  like  a  boss,  when  it  comes 
near  dark  it  mends  its  pace,  and  gets  on  like  smoke,  so  afore  I 
know'd  where  I  was,  twilight  had  come  peepin'  over  the  spruce  tops. 

"  Off  I  sot,  hot  foot,  into  the  bushes,  arter  the  cows,  and  as  always 
eventuates  when  you  are  in  a  hurry,  they  was  further  back  than 
common  that  time,  away  ever  so  fur  back  to  a  brook,  clean  off  to  the 
rear  of  the  farm,  so  that  day  was  gone  afore  I  got  out  of  the  woods, 
and  I  got  proper  frightened.  Every  noise  I  heerd  I  thought  it  was 
a  bear,  and  when  I  looked  round  a  one  side,  I  guessed  I  heerd  one 
on  the  other,  and  I  hardly  turned  to  look  there,  before  I  reckoned  it 
was  behind  me,  I  was  e'en  almost  skeered  to  death. 

"  Thinks  I, '  I  shall  never  be  able  to  keep  up  to  the  cows  if  a  bear 
comes  arter  'em  and  chases  'em,  and  if  I  fall  astam,  he'll  just  snap 
up  a  plump  little  com  fed  feller  like  me  in  less  than  half  no  time. 
Cryin','  says  I, '  though,  will  do  no  good.  You  must  be  up  and  doin,* 
Sam,  or  it's  gone  goose  with  you.' 

*  So  a  thought  struck  me.  Father  had  always  been  a  talkin'  to 
me  about  the  leadin'  men,  and  makin'  .':kcquaintance  with  the  political 
big  bugs  when  I  growed  up  and  bavin'  a  patron,  and  so  on.  Thinks 
I,  I'll  take  the  leadin*  cow  for  rmf  patron.  So  I  jist  goes  and  cuts  a 
long  tough  ash  saplin,  and  takes  the  little  limbs  off  of  it,  and  then 
walks  alongside  of  Mooley,  as  meachin'  as  you  please,  so  she 
mightn't  suspect  nothin',  and  then  grabs  right  hold  (^  her  tail,  and 
yelled  and  screamed  like  mad,  and  walloped  away  at  her  like  any- 
thing. 

"  Well,  the  way  she  cut  dirt  was  cautionary ;  she  cleared  stumps, 
ditches,  windfalls  and  everything,  and  made  a  straight  track  of  it  for 
home  as  the  crow  flies.  Oh,  she  was  a  clipper ;  she  fairly  flew  again, 
and  if  ever  she  flagged,  I  laid  it  into  her  with  the  ash  saplin,  and 
away  we  started  agin,  as  if  Old  Nick  himself  was  arter  us. 

"  But  afore  I  reached  home,  the  rest  of  the  cows  came  a  bellowin', 
and  a  roarin'  and  a-racin'  like  mad  arter  us,  and  gained  on  us  too,  so 
as  most  to  overtake  us,  when  jist  as  I  come  to  the  bars  of  the  cow 
yard,  over  went  Mooley,  like  a  ^x,  brought  me  whap  up  agin  'em, 
which  knocked  all  the  wind  out  of  my  lungs  and  the  fire  out  of  my 
eyes,  and  laid  me  sprawlin  on  the  ground,  and  every  one  of  the  flock 
went  right  slap  over  me,  all  but  one — poor  Brindle.  She  never 
came  home  again.    Bear  nabbed  her,  and  tore  her  most  ridicidou8» 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


109 


tLinr  to 

itical 

links 

cuts  a 

thm 

she 

and 

any- 


)wm, 
oo,so 
cow 
'em, 
my 
flock 


He  eat  what  he  wanted,  which  was  no  trifle,  I  can  tell  jou,  and  left 
the  rest  till  next  time. 

*'  Don't  talk  to  me.  Squire,  about  merits.    We  all  want  a  lift  in  ^ 
this  world ;  sunthin'  or  another  to  laj  hold  on,  to  help  us  along— 
we  want  the  cow*8  tail. 

"  Tell  your  friend,  the  female  widder,  she  has  got  hold  of  the 
wrong  cow  by  the  tail  in  gettin'  hold  of  you  ffor  you  are  nothin'  but 
a  despisable  colonist)  ;  but  to  look  out  for  some  patron  here,  some 
leadin'  man,  or  great  lord,  to  clinch  fast  hold  of  him,  and  stidk  to 
him  like  a  leech,  and  if  he  flags  (for  patrons,  like  old  Mooley,  get 
tired  sometimes),  to  recollect  the  ash  saplin,  to  lay  it  into  him  well, 
and  keep  him  at  it,  and  no  fear  but  he'll  carry  her  through.  He'll 
fetch  her  home  safe  at  last,  and  no  mistake,  depend  on  it.  Squire. 
The  best  lesson  that  little  boy  could  be  taught,  is,  that  of  the  Patron^ 
or  the  Cow's  Tail." 


iW 


v;  <i  i- 


•'*M7 


.,4'\»,^ 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


ASCOT    RACES. 


.  ii  :tAi 
■.i.»(i  ;.  i'.'.<'i  il  " 

.  ,  .T  .,     it..  iT  ». 


To-DAT  I  visited  Ascot.  Race-courses  are  similar  everywhere, 
and  present  the  same  objects;  good  horses,  cruel  riders,  knowing 
men,  dupes,  jockeys,  gamblers,  and  a  large  assemblage  of  mixed  com- 
pany. But  this  is  a  gayer  scene  than  most  others ;  and  every  epi- 
thet, appropriate  to  a  course,  diminutive  or  otherwise,  must  be  in  the 
superlative  degree  when  applied  to  Ascot.  This  is  the  general,  and 
often  the  only  impression  that  most  men  carry  away  with  them. 

Mr.  Slick,  who  regards  these  thingfi  practically,  called  my  atten- 
tion to  another  view  of  it. 

<'  Squire,"  said  he,  "  I'd  a  plaguy  sight  sooner  see  Ascot  than  any- 
thing else  to  England.  There  ain't  nothin'  like  it.  I  don't  mean 
the  racin',  because  they  can't  go  ahead  like  us,  if  they  was  to  die  for 
it.  Wo  have  colts  that  can  whip  chain  lightnin',  on  a  pinch.  Old 
Clay  trotted  with  it  once  all  around  an  orchard,  and  beat  it  his  whole 
length,  but  it  singed  his  tail  properly  as  he  passed  it,  you  may  de- 
pend. It  ain't  its  runnin'  I  speak  of,  therefore,  though  that  ain't 
mean  nother ;  but  it's  got  another  featur*,  that  you'll  know  it  by  from 
all  others.  Oh,  it's  an  everlastin'  pity  you  wam't  here,  when  I  was 
to  England  last  time.  Queen  was  there  then  ;  and  where  she  is,  of 
course  all  the  world  and  its  wife  is  too.  She  wam't  there  this  year, 
and  it  sarves  folks  right.  If  I  was  an  angelyferous  queen,  like  her, 
I  wouldn't  go  nowhere  till  I  had  a  tory  minister,  and  then  a  feller ' 


110 


THB  ATTACH^;  OB, 


II 


11  I' 

I 


that  had  a  "  trigger-eye"  would  stand  a  chance  to  get  a  white  hemp 
neckcloth.  I  don't  wonder  Hume  don't  like  young  England,  for 
when  that  boy  grows  up,  he'll  teach  some  folks  that  they  had  better 
let  some  folks  alone,  or  some  folks  had  better  take  care  of  some 
folk's  ampersands,  that's  all. 

**  The  time  I  speak  of,  people  went  in  their  carriages,  and  not  by 
railroad.  Now,  pr'aps  you  don't  know,  in  fact  you  can't  know,  for 
you  can't  cypher,  colonists  ain't  no  good  at  figures,  but  if  you  did 
know,  the  way  to  judge  of  a  nation  ia  by  its  private  carriages.  From 
Hyde  Park  comer  to  Ascot  Heath,  is  twenty  odd  miles.  Well,  there 
was  one  whole  endurin'  stream  of  carriages  all  the  way,  sometimes 
havin'  one  or  two  eddies,  and  where  the  toll-gates  stood,  bavin'  still 
water  for  ever  so  far.  Well,  it  flowed  and  flowed  on  for  hours  and 
hours  without  stoppin',  like  a  river ;  and  when  you  got  up  to  the 
race-ground,  there  was  the  matter  of  two  or  three  tiers  of  carriages, 
with  the  bosses  ofl^,  packed  as  close  as  pins  in  a  paper. 

"  It  costs  near  hand  to  twelve  hundred  dollars  a-year  to  keep  up 
a  carriage  here.  Now  for  goodness'  sake  jist  multiply  that  ever- 
lastin'  string  of  carriages  by  three  hundred  pounds  each,  and  see 
what's  spent  in  that  way  every  year,  and  then  multiply  that  by  ten 
hundred  thousand  more  that's  in  other  places  to  England  you  don't 
see,  and  then  tell  me  if  rich  people  here  ain't  as  thick  as  huckle- 
berries. 

*'  Well,  when  you've  done,  go  to  France,  to  Belgium,  and  to  Prus- 
sia, three  sizeable  places  for  Europe,  and  rake  and  scrape  every 
private  carriage  they've  got,  and  they  ain't  no  touch  to  what  Ascot 
can  show.  Well,  when  you've  done  your  cipherin',  come  right  back 
to  London,  as  hard  as  you  can  clip  from  the  race-course,  and  you 
won't  miss  any  of  'em ;  the  town  is  as  full  as  ever,  to  your  eyes.  A 
knowin'  old  coon,  bred  and  bom  to  London,  might  see  the  difference, 
but  you  couldn't. 

"  Arter  that's  over,  go  and  pitch  the  whole  bilin'  of  'em  into  the 
Thames,  bosses,  carriages,  people,  and  all ;  and  next  day,  if  it  wam't 
for  the  black  weepers  and  long  faces  of  them  that's  lost  money  by  it, 
and  the  black  crape  and  happy  faces  of  them  that's  got  money,  or 
titles,  or  what  not  by  it,  you  wouldn't  know  nothin'  about  it.  Car- 
riages would'nt  rise  ten  cents  in  the  pound  ^i  the  market.  A  stranger, 
like  you,  if  you  wam't  told,  wouldn't  know  nothin'  was  the  matter 
above  common.  There  ain't  nothin'  to  England  sho^ws  its  wealth 
like  this.  ,,,i,  iulii  iX    .bi*  xj 

"  Says  father  to  me  when  I  came  back,  *  Sam,'  sais  he,  '  what 
stmck  you  most  ?' 

"*  Ascot  Races,' sais  L 

" '  Jist  like  you,'  sais  he.  "  Hosses  and  galls  is  all  you  think  of. 
Wherever  they  be,  there  you  are,  that's  a  fact.  You're  a  chip  of 
the  old  block,  my  boy.    There  ain't  nothin'  like  'em ;  is  there?* 


SAM  SLICE  IN  BNOLAND. 


Ill 


'what 


"  Well,  he  was  half  right,  was  father.  It's  worth  seein'  for  hosses 
and  galls  too ;  but  its  worth  seem'  for  its  carriage  wealth  alone. 
Heavens  and  airth,  what  a  rich  country  it  must  be  that  has  such  a 
show  in  that  line  as  England.  Don't  talk  of  stock,  for  it  may  fail ; 
or  silversmiths'  shops,  for  you  can't  tell  what's  plated ;  or  jewels,  for 
they  may  be  paste ;  or  goods,  for  they  may  be  worth  only  half 
uothin ;  but  talk  of  the  carriages,  them's  the  witnesses  that  don't  lie. 

"  And  what  do  they  say  ?  *  Calcutta  keeps  me,  and  China  keeps 
TQe,  and  Bot'ney  Bay  keeps  me,  and  Canada  keeps  me,  and  Nova 
Scotia  keeps  me,  and  the  whales  keep  me,  and  the  white  bears  keep 
me,  and  everything  on  the  airth  keeps  me,  everything  onder  the  airth 
keeps  me.     In  short,  aU  the  world  keeps  me.* " 

"  No,  not  all  the  world,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell ;  "  there  are 
some  repudiative  States  that  don't  keep  me ;  and  if  you  go  to  the 
auction-rooms,  you'll  see  some  beautiful  carriages  for  sale,  that  say, 
*  the  United  States'  Bank  used  to  keep  me,  and  some  more  that  say, 
'Nick.  Biddle  put  me  down.' " 

"  Minister,  I  won't  stand  that,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  I  won't  stay 
here  and  hear  you  belittle  Uncle  Sam  that  way  for  nothin'.  He  ain't 
wuss  than  John  Bull,  arter  all.  Ain't  there  no  swindle-banks  here  ? 
Jist  tell  me  that.  Don't  our  liners  fetch  over,  every  trip,  fellers  that 
cut  and  run  from  England,  with  their  fobs  filled  with  other  men's 
money  ?  Ain't  there  lords  in  this  country  that  know  how  to  *  repu- 
diate' as  well  as  ring-tail-roarers  in  oum  ?  So  come  now,  don't  throw 
stones  till  you  put  your  window-shutters  to,  or  you  may  stand  a  smart 
chance  of  gettin' your  own  glass  broke,  that's  a  fact. 

"  And  then.  Squire,  jist  look  at  the  carriages.  I'll  bet  you  a  goose 
and  trimmin's  you  can't  find  their  ditto  nowhere.  They  are  car- 
riages, and  no  mistake,  that's  a  fact.  Look  at  the  hosses,  the  harness, 
the  paint,  the  linin's,  the  well-dressed,  lazy,  idle,  infamal  hansum 
servants  (these  rascals,  I  suspicion,  are  picked  out  for  their  looks), 
look  at  the  whole  thing  all  through  the  piece,  take  it,  by  and  large, 
stock,  lock,  and  barrel,  and  it's  the  dandy,  that's  a  fact.  Don't  it  cost 
money,  that's  all  ?  Sumtotalize  it  then,  and  see  what  it  all  comes  to. 
It  would  make  your  hair  stand  on  eend,  I  know.  If  it  was  all  put 
into  figurs,  it  would  reach  clean  across  the  river ;  and  if  it  was  all 
put  into  dollars,  it  would  make  a  solid  tire  of  silver,  and  hoop  the 
world  round  and  round,  like  a  wheel. 

"  If  you  want  to  give  a  man  an  idea  of  England,  Squire,  tell  him 
of  Ascot ;  and  if  you  want  to  cram  him,  get  old  Multiplication-table 

Joe  H to  cast  it  up ;  for  he'll  make  it  come  to  twice  as  much  as 

it  railly  is,  and  that  will  choke  him.     Yes,  Squire,  stick  to  Ascot." 


112 


THE  ATTACh£;   OB,  /   ' 


;4P» 


•*.i 


I  - 


CHAPTER   XIX.      , 

THE   GANDER  PULLING. 


.     '   .  .  ■■■    '•;   «JU'I  :  •  ''••1  -;''\  ^    <: 
r  ;  -  /:  U\,-\'  .  1 1' '  •  ! 

-    .  •  V    I"..  :     ■  -.  •     -'l  v(  rti   v-iH 


A  CUNNIXG  man  is  generally  a  suspicious  one,  and  is  as  ofleit  led 
into  error  himself  by  hiis  own  misconceptions,  as  protected  from  im- 
position by  his  hab  mal  caution.     > 

Mr.  Slick,  who  always  acted  on  a  motive,  and  never  on  an  impulse, 
and  who  concealed  his  real  objects  behind  ostensible  ones,  imagined 
that  everybody  else  was  governed  by  the  same  principle  of  action ; 
and,  therefore,  frequently  deceived  himself  by  attributing  designs  lO 
others  that  never  existed  but  in  his  own  imagination. 

Whether  .he  following  story  of  the  gander  pulling  was  a  fancy 
sketch  of  the  Attach^,  or  a  narrative  of  facts,  I  had  no  means  of  as- 
certaining. Strange  interviews  and  queer  conversations  he  con- 
stantly had  with  official  as  well  as  private  individuals,  but  as  he  often 
gave  his  opinions  the  ibrm  of  an  anecdote,  for  the  purpose  of  inter- 
esting his  hearers,  it  was  not  always  easy  to  decide  whether  his 
stories  were  facts  or  fictions. 

If,  on  the  present  occasion,  it  was  of  the  la*ter  description,  it  is 
manifest  that  he  entertained  no  very  high  opinion  of  the  constitu- 
tional changes  effected  in  the  government  of  the  colonies  by  the 
Whigs,  during  their  long  and  perilous  rule.  If  of  the  former  kind, 
it  is  to  be  lamented  th:it  he  concealed  his  deliberate  convictions  under 
an  allegorical  piece  of  humor.  His  disposition  to  "  humbug"  was  so 
great,  it  was  difficult  to  obtain  a  plain  straightforward  reply  from 
him ;  but  had  the  Secretary  of  State  put  the  question  to  him  in  direct 
terms,  what  he  thought  of  Lord  Durham's  "  Responsible  govern- 
ment," and  the  practical  working  of  it  under  Lord  Sydenham's  and 
Sir  Charles  Bagot's  administration,  he  would  have  obtained  a  plain 
and  intelligible  answer.  If  the  interview  to  which  he  alludes  ever 
did  take  place  (which  I  am  bound  to  add,  is  very  doubtful,  notwith- 
standing the  minuteness  with  which  it  is  detailed),  it  is  deeply  to  be 
regretted  that  he  was  not  addressed  in  that  frank  manner  which 
could  alone  elicit  his  real  sentiments ;  for  I  know  of  no  man  so  com- 
petent to  offer  an  opinion  on  these  subjects  as  himself. 

To  govern  England  successfully,  it  is  necessary  to  know  the  tem.- 
per  of  Englishmen.  Obvious  as  this  appears  to  be,  the  frequent  re- 
linquishment of  government  measures,  by  the  dominant  party,  shows 


! 


/ 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


118 


ovem- 
s  and 

plain 
s  ever 
twith- 

to  be 
which 

oom- 


that  their  own  statesmen  are  sometimes  deficient  in  this  know- 
ledge. 

Mr.  Slick  says,  that  if  Sir  James  Graham  had  consulted  him,  he 
could  have  shown  him  how  to  carry  the  educational  clauses  of  his 
favorite  bill.  This,  perhaps,  is  rather  an  instance  of  Mr.  Slick's 
vanity  than  a  proof  of  his  sagacity.  But  if  this  species  of  informa- 
tion is  not  easy  of  attainment  here,  even  by  natives,  how  difficult 
must  it  be  to.  govern  a  people  three  thousand  miles  off,  who  differ 
most  materially  in  thought,  word,  and  deed,  from  their  official  rulers. 

Mr.  Slick,  when  we  had  not  met  during  the  day,  generally  visited 
me  at  night,  about  the  time  I  usually  returned  from  a  dinner-party, 
and  amused  me  by  a  recital  of  his  adventures. 

"  Squire,"  said  he,  "  I  have  had  a  most  curious  capur  to-day,  and 
one  that  will  interest  you,  I  guess.  Jist  as  I  was  a  settin'  down  to 
breakfast  this  momin',  and  was  a  tumin'  of  an  egg  inside  out  into  a 
wine-glass,  to  salt,  pepper  and  butter  it  for  Red-lane  Alley,  I  re- 
ceived a  note  from  a  Mister  Fen,  saying  the  Right  Honorable  Mr. 
Tact  would  be  glad,  if  it  was  convenient,  if  I  would  call  down  to  his 
office,  to  Downin'  Street,  to-day,  at  four  o'clock.  Thinks  says  I  to 
myself,  *  "What's  to  pay  now  ?  Is  it  the  Boundary  Line,  or  the  Cre- 
ole Case,  or  Colonial  Trade,  or  the  Burnin'  of  the  Caroline,  or  Right 
o'  Sarch  ?  or  what  national  subject  is  on  the  carpet  to-day  ?  How- 
sundever,'  sais  I,  *■  Vti  the  charge  be  what  it  will,  slugs,  rifle-bulbt, 
or  powder,  go  I  must,  that's  a  fact.'  So  I  tips  him  a  shot  right  off: 
here's  the  draft,  Sir,  its  in  reg'lar  state  lingo.        •  i 

"  I  have  the  high  honor  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  letter 
of  this  present  first  of  June  instant,  and  note  its  contents.  The  con- 
ference (subject .  unknown),  proffered  by  the  Right  Honorable  Mr. 
Tact,  I  accede  to  hereby  protesting  and  resarving  all  rights  of  con- 
farmation  and  reniggin  of  our  Extraordinary  Embassador,  now  ab- 
sent from  London,  at  the  great  agricultural  meetin'.  I  would  sug- 
gest, next  time,  it  would  better  convene  to  business,  to  insart  subject 
of  discussion,  to  prevent  being  taken  at  a  short. 

"  I  have  to  assure  you  of  the  high  consideration  of  your  most 
obedient  servant  to  command. 

'The  Hon.  Sam  Slick, 
^.•?-:  :•-,'! .:..  ..^  ■■  ■  ■  .:.".'-J  ■•:i  •■-  "Attache. 

"  Well,  when  the  time  comes,  I  rigs  up,  puts  on  the  legation  coat, 
calls  a  cab,  and  downs  to  Downing  Street,  and  looks  as  dignified  as 
I  cleverly  knew  how. 
* "  When  I  enters  the  outer  door,  I  sees  a  man  in  an  arm-chair  in 
the  entry,  and  he  looked  like  a  buster,  I  tell  you,  jist  ready  to  blow 
up  with  the  steam  of  all  the  secrets  he  had  in  his  byler. 


% 


^iP«IVM;«UllJ,l|l|,fJ.|llllliipiP 


lU 


THB    ATTACH^!;  OR, 


«*Canl8eeMr.  TactP'saisI.  .       . 

"'Tell  you  directly,'  Bais  he,  j'st  short  like;  for  Englishmen  are 
kinder  costive  of  words ;  they  don't  use  more  nor  will  do,  at  no  time ; 
and  ho  rings  a  bell.  This  brings  in  his  second  in  command ;  and 
eais  he, '  Pray  walk  in  here,  if  you  please.  Sir,'  and  he  led  me  into 
a  little  plain,  stage-coach-house  lookin'  room,  with  nothin'  but  a  table 
and  two  or  three  chairs  in  it ;  and  says  he,  *  Who  shall  I  say,  Sir  ?' 

" '  The  Honorable  Mr.  Slick'  sais  I, '  Attache  of  the  American 
Legation  to  the  court  of  Saint  Jimses'  Victoria.' 

'^  Off  he  sot ;  and  there  I  waited  and  waited  for  ever  so  long,  but 
he  didn't  come  back.  Well  I  walked  to  the  winder  and  looked  out, 
but  there  was  nothin'  to  see  there ;  and  then  I  turned  and  looked  afc 
a  great  big  map  on  the  wall,  and  there  was  nothin'  I  didn'  know 
there ;  and  then  I  took  out  my  penknife  to  whittle,  but  my  nails  was 
all  whittled  off  already,  except  one,  and  that  was  made  into  a  pen, 
and  I  didn't  like  to  spile  that ;  and  as  there  wasn't  anything  I  could 
get  hold  of,  I  jist  slivered  a  great  big  bit  off  the  leg  of  the  chair, 
and  began  to  make  a  toothpick  of  it.  And  when  I  had  got  that  fin- 
ished, I  begins  to  get  tired ;  for  nothin'  makes  me  so  peskilly  oneasy 
as  to  be  kept  waitin' ;  for  if  a  clockmaker  don't  know  the  valy  of 
time,  who  the  plague  does  ? 

"  So  jist  to  pass  it  away,  I  began  to  hum  *  Jim  Brown.'  Did 
you  ever  hear  it,  Squire?  it's  a'most  a  beautiful  air,  as  most  all 
them  nigger  songs  are.  I'll  make  you  a  varse,  that  will  suit  a  des- 
picable colonist  exactly. 


H 


I  went  up  to  London,  the  capital  of  the  nation,  /■  H  '* 

^    ,     »  ,         ■■    To  See  Lord  Stanley,  and  get  a  sitivation.  .^  •,  .{  i  '* 

''        '  ',   ;  -  '    Says  he  to  me,  ♦  Sam  Slick,  what  can  you  dol'  .  .^,,  . ,,;  j  ^^ 

-'      •              -     Says  I,  *  Lord  Stanley,  jist  as  much  as  you.'  (  '           ''. 

,  !:          i  ,  Liberate  the  rebels,  and 'mancipate  the  niggers,  '  !  , 

.J             Hurror  for  our  side,  and  damn  thimble-riggers.  •  .  j       i  '' 

*^  Airth  and  seas  I  If  you  was  to  sing  that  'ere  song  there,  how 
it  would  make  'em  stare — wouldn't  it  ?  Such  words  as  them  was 
never  heerd  in  that  patronage  office,  I  guess ;  and  yet  folks  must 
have  oflen  thort  it  too--that's  a  fact. 

"  I  was  a  hummin'  the  rael  'Jim  Brown,'  and  got  as  far  as  > 


»f  >  r'       y 


•:ui 


Play  tfpon  the  banjo,  play  upon  the  fiddle, 
Walk  about  the  town,  and  abuse  old  Biddle, 


fj 


when  I  stopped  right  in  the  middle  of  it,  for  it  kinder  sorter  struck 
me  it  wam't  dignified  to  be  a  singin'  of  nigger-catches  that  way. 
So  says  I  to  myself,  '  This  ain't  respectful  to  our  great  nation  (b 
keep  a  high  functionary  a  waitin'  arter  this  fiishion,  is  it  ?    Guess 


^~>  '  M'*  .i     WA*  4      <> 


-i- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


115 


I'd  better  assart  the  honor  of  our  republic  by  goin'  away ;  and  let 
him  see  that  it  wam't  me  that  was  his  lackey  last  year.' 

"  Well,  jist  as  I  had  taken  the  sleeve  of  my  coat  and  given  my 
hat  a  rub  over  with  it,  (a  good  hat  will  carry  off  an  old  suit  of 
clothes  at  any  time,  but  a  new  suit  of  clothes  will  never  carry  off 
an  old  hat,  so  I  like  to  keep  my  hat  in  good  order  in  a  general 
way).  Well,  jist  as  I  had  done,  in  walks  the  porter's  first  leflen- 
ant ;  and  sais  he,  *  Mr.  Tact  will  see  you,  Sir.' 

'' '  He  come  plaguy  near  not  seein'  of  me,  then,'  sais  I ;  '  for  I 
had  jist  commenced  makin'  tracks  as  you  come  in.  The  next  time 
he  sends  for  me,  tell  him  not  to  send  till  he  is  ready,  will  you?  For 
it's  a  rule  o'  mine  to  tag  arter  no  man.' 

"  The  critter  jist  stopped  short,  and  began  to  see  whether  that 
spelt  treason  or  no.  He  never  heerd  freedom  o'  speech  afore,  that 
feller,  I  guess,  unless  it  was  somebody  a  jawin'  of  him,  up  hill  and 
down  dale ;  so  says  I,  '  Lead  off,  my  old  coon,  and  I  will  foller  you, 
and  no  mistake,  if  you  blaze  the  line  well.' 

"  So  he  led  me  up  stairs,  opened  a  door,  and  'nounced  me ;  and 
there  was  Mr.  Tact,  sittin'  at  a  large  table,  all  alone. 

"  *  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Slick  ?'  says  he.  '  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you.  Fray  be  seated.'  He  railly  was  a  very  gentlemanlike  man, 
was  Squire  Tact,  that's  a  fact  '  Sorry  I  kept  you  waitin'  so  long,' 
sais  he,  *  but  the  Turkish  Ambassador  was  here  at  the  time,  and  I 
was  compelled  to  wait  until  he  went.  I  sent  for  you.  Sir,  a-hem !' 
and  he  rubbed  his  hand  acrost  his  mouth,  and  looked  up  at  the  cor- 
nish,  and  said,  <  I  sent  for  you.  Sir,  a-hem !' — (thinks  I,  I  see  now. 
All  you  will  say  for  half  an  hour  is  only  throw'd  up  for  a  brush 
fence,  to  lay  down  behind  to  take  aim  through ;  and  arter  that,  the 
first  shot  is  the  one  that's  aimed  at  the  bird),  '  to  explain  to  you 
about  this  African  Slave  Treaty,'  said  he.  <  xour  government  don't 
seem  to  comprehend  me  in  reference  to  this  Bight  of  Sarch. 
Lookin'  a  man  in  the  &ce,  to  see  he  is  the  right  man,  and  sarchin' 
his  pockets,  are  two  very  different  things.    You  take,  don't  you  ?' 

^'  *  I'm  up  to  snuff.  Sir,'  sais  I,  '  and  no  mistake.'  I  know'd  well 
enough  that  wam't  what  he  sent  for  me  for,  by  the  way  be  humm'd 
and  hawed  when  he  began. 

"  *  Taking  up  a  trunk,  as  every  hotel-keeper  does,  and  has  a  right 
to  do,  and  examinin'  the  name  on  the  brass  plate  to  the  eend  on't,  is 
one  thing ;  forcin'  the  lock  and  ransackin'  the  contents,  is  another. 
One  is  precaution,  the  other  is  burglary.* 

" '  It  tante  bursary,'  sais  I,  'unless  the  lodger  sleeps  in  his  trunk. 
It's  only—' 

« <  Well,'  says  he,  a  colorin'  up,  '  that's  technical.  I  leave  these 
matters  to  my  law  officers.' 

*'  I  lamt  that  little  matter  of  law  from  Brother  Eldad,  the  lawyer, 
but  I  guess  I  was  wrong  there.    I  don't  think  I  had  ought  to  have 


116 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


ji 


': 


'■ 


given  him  that  sly  poke ;  but  I  didn't  like  his  talkin'  that  way  to 
nio.  Whon(;v<T  a  ft'ller  tries  to  pull  the  wool  over  your  eyes,  it's  a 
sign  he  don't  think  high  of  your  onderstandin'.  It  isn't  complimen- 
tal,  that's  a  fact.  '  One  is  a  serious  offence,  I  mean,'  sais  he  ;  *  the 
other  is  not.  We  don't  want  to  sarch ;  we  only  want  to  look  a  sla- 
ver in  the  face,  and  see  whether  ho  is  a  free  and  enlightened  Ameri- 
can or  not.  If  ho  is,  the  flag  of  liberty  protects  him  and  his  alaves; 
if  he  ain't,  it  don't  protect  him,  nor  them  nother.' 

*'  Then  he  did  a  leadin'  article  on  slavery,  and  a  paragraph  on 
non-intervention,  and  spoke  a  little  soft  sawder  about  America,  and 
wound  up  by  askin'  me  if  he  had  made  himself  ondcrstood. 

"  "  Plain  as  a  boot-jack,'  sais  I. 

"  When  that  was  over,  he  took  breath.  He  sot  back  on  his  chair, 
put  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  took  a  fresh  departur'  agin. 

"  *  I  have  read  your  books,  Mr.  Slick,*  said  he,  *  and  read  'em, 
too,  with  great  pleasure.  You  have  been  a  great  traveller  in  your 
day.     You've  been  round  the  world  a'most,  haven't  you  ?' 

« *  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I  sharn't  say  I  hante.'  ^        '  " 

" '  What  a  deal  of  information  a  man  of  your  observation  must 
have  acquired  I'  (He  is  a  gentlemanly  man,  that,  you  may  depend. 
I  don't  know  when  I've  see'd  one  so  well  mannered.) 

"  ♦  Not  so  much.  Sir,  as  you  would  suppose,'  sais  I.         ■•^"'  '  "   ' 

"  *  Why,  how  so  ?'  sais  he. 

« i  Why,'  sais  I,  *  the  first  time  a  man  goes  round  the  world,  he 
is  plaguy  skeered  for  fear  of  fallin'  off  the  edge ;  the  second  time 
he  gets  used  to  it,  and  learns  a  good  deal.' 

"  *  Fallin'  off  the  edge  I'  sais  he :  '  what  an  original  idea  that  is  I 
That's  one'  of  your  best.  I  like  your  works  for  that  they  are  ori- 
ginal. We  have  nothin'  but  imitations  now.  Fallin'  off  the  edge, 
that's  capital.  I  must  tell  Peel  that;  for  he  is  very  fond  of  that  sort 
of  thing.' 

"  He  was  a  very  pretty  spoken  man,  was  Mr.  Tact ;  he  is  quite 
the  gentleman,  that's  a  fact.  I  love  to  hear  him  talk  ;  he  is  so  very 
perlite,  and  seems  to  take  a  likin'  to  me  parsonally." 

Few  men  are  so  open  to  flattery  as  Mr.  Slick ;  and  although 
**  soil  sawder  "  is  one  of  the  artifices  he  constantly  uses  in  his  inter- 
course vrith  others,  he  is  often  thrown  off  his  guard  by  it  himself. 
How  much  easier  is  it  to  discover  the  weaknesses  of  others  than  to 
see  our  own  I 

But  to  resume  the  story.  '    '  -  '    -"  •  •  -'  «  ''^"  ''      '  ^ 

" '  You  have  been  a  good  deal  in  the  colonies,  haven't  you  ?* 
said  he. 

"  *  Considerable  sum,'  sais  I.  *  Now,'  sais  I  to  myself,  *  this  is 
the  raal  object  he  sent  for  me  for ;  but  I  won't  tell  him  nothin'.  If 
he'd  a  up  and  askt  me  right  off  the  reel,  like  a  man,  he*d  a  found 


"« 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


117 


quite 
very 


you?' 

this  is 

n'.    If 

found 


me  up  to  the  notch  ;  but  he  thort  to  play  me  off.  Now  I'll  sarve 
him  out  his  own  way  ;  so  hure  goes.' 

" '  Your  long  acquaintance  with  the  provinces,  and  familiar  inter- 
course  with  the  people/  sais  he,  'must  have  made  you  quite  at  home 
on  all  colonial  topics.' 

" '  I  thought  so  once,'  sais  I ;  '  but  I  don't  think  so  now  no  more, 
Sir.'  ,   .         .  I,   ,. . ,.    ,  r  :i  "■  ■  ■► 

« <  Why,  how  is  that  ?'  sais  he. 

«  <  Why,  Sir,'  sais  I,  *  you  can  hold  a  book  so  near  your  eyes  as 
not  to  be  able  to  read  a  word  of  it ;  hold  it  off  further,  and  get  the 
right  focus,  and  you  can  read  it  beautiful.  Now  the  right  distance 
to  sue  a  colony,  and  know  all  about  it,  is  England.  Three  thousand 
miles  is  the  right  focus  for  a  political  spy-glass.  A  man  livin'  here, 
and  who  never  was  out  of  Enghuid,  knows  twice  as  much  about  the 
provinces  as  I  do.'  ^      ,  ,^,     ,    ,^^,     ,  j     .,,  ...  |,  .„, , 

.  " '  Oh,  you  are  joking,'  sais  he. 

"  *  Not  a  bit,'  sais  I.  'I  find  folks  here  that  not  only  know  every- 
thing about  them  countries,  but  have  no  doubts  upon  any  matter, 
and  ask  no  questions ;  in  fact,  they  not  only  know  more  than  me, 
but  more  than  the  people  themselves  do,  what  they  want.  It's  curi- 
ous, but  it's  a  fact.  A  colonist  is  the  most  beautiful  critter  in  natur 
to  try  experiments  on,  you  ever  see ;  for  he  is  so  simple  and  good- 
natured,  he  don't  know  no  better ;  and  so  weak,  he  couldn't  help 
himself  if  he  did.  There's  great  fun  in  making  these  experiments, 
too.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  "  Gander  Fulling ;"  you  know  what 
that  is,  don't  you  ?" 

" '  No,'  he  said,  *  I  never  heard  of  it.     Is  it  an  American  sport  ?* 

" '  Yes,'  sais  I,  *  it  is  ;  and  the  most  excitin'  thing,  too,  you  ever 
see.' 

"  *  You  are  a  very  droll  man,  Mr.  Slick,'  said  he,  *  a  very  droll 
man  indeed.  In  all  your  books  there  is  a  great  deal  of  fun  ;  but  in 
all  your  fun  there  is  a  meanin'.  Your  jokes  hit,  and  hit  pretty  hard, 
too,  sometimes.  They  aake  a  man  think  as  well  as  laugh.  But 
describe  this  Gander  Fulling.' 

"  *  Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,*  sais  I.  *  First  and  foremost,  a 
ring-road  is  formed,  like  a  small  race-course ;  then,  two  great  long 
posts  is  fixed  into  the  ground,  one  on  each  side  of  the  road,  and  a 
rope  made  fast  by  the  eends  to  each  post,  leavin'  the  middle  of  the 
rope  to  hang  loose  in  a  curve.  Well,  then  they  take  a  gander  and 
pick  his  neck  as  clean  as  a  babby's,  and  then  grease  it  most  beautiful 
all  the  way  from  the  breast  to  the  head,  till  it  becomes  as  sUppery  as 
a  soaped  eel.  Then  they  tie  both  his  legs  together  with  a  strong 
piece  of  cord,  of  the  size  of  a  halyard,  and  hang  him  by  the  feet  to 
the  middle  of  the  swingin'  rope,  with  his  head  downward.  All  the 
youngsters,  all  round  the  country,  come  to  see  the  sport,  mounted  a 
horseback. 


118 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


" '  Well,  the  owner  of  the  goose  goes  round  with  his  hat,  and  gets 
so  much  a  piece  in  it  from  every  one  that  enters  for  the  "  Pullin ;" 
and  when  all  have  entered,  they  bring  their  hosses  in  a  line,  one  arter 
another ;  and  at  the  words,  *  Cro  a-head !'  off  they  set,  as  hard  as  they 
can  Rplit ;  and  as  they  pass  under  the  goose,  make  a  grab  at  him ; 
and  whoever  carries  off  the  head,  wins. 

^  *  Well,  the  goose  dodges  his  head  and  flaps  his  wings,  and  swings 
about  so,  it  ain't  no  easy  matter  to  clutch  his  neck ;  and  when  you 
do,  it's  so  greasy,  it  jlips  right  through  the  fingers,  like  nothin'. 
Sometimes  it  takes  so  long,  that  the  hosses  are  fairly  beat  out,  and 
can't  scarcely  raise  a  gallop ;  and  then  a  man  stands  by  the  post,  with 
a  heavy  loaded  whip,  to  lash  'em  on,  so  that  they  mayn't  stand  under 
the  goose,  which  ain't  fair.  The  whoopin*.  and  hollerin',  and  scream- 
in',  and  bettin',  and  excitement,  beats  all ;  there  ain't  hardly  no  sport 
equal  to  it.     It's  great  fun  to  all  except  the  poor  goosey-gander. 

"  '  The  game  of  colony  government  to  Canady,  for  some  years  back, 
puts  me  in  mind  of  that  exactly.  Colonist  has  had  his  heels  put 
where  his  head  used  to  be,  this  some  time  past.  He  has  his  legs 
tied,  and  his  neck  properly  greased,  I  tell  you  ;  and  the  way  every 
parliament  man,  and  governor,  and  secretary,  gallops  round  and 
round,  one  arter  another,  a  grabbin'  at  poor  colonist,  ain't  no  matter. 
Every  new  one  on  'em  that  comes  is  confident  he  is  a  goin'  to  settle 
it ;  but  it  slips  through  his  hand,  and  off  he  goes,  properly  larfec;  at. 

" *They  have  pretty  nearly  fixed  goosey  colonist,  though;  he  has 
got  his  neck  wrung  several  times ;  it's  twisted  all  a  one  side,  his 
tongue  hangs  out,  and  he  squeaks  piteous,  that's  a  fact.  Another 
good  grab  or  two  will  put  him  out  o'  pain ;  and  it's  a  pity  it  wouldn't, 
for  no  created  critter  can  live  long,  turned  wrong  eend  up,  that  way. 
But  the  sport  will  last  long  arter  that ;  for  arter  his  neck  is  broke,  it 
ain't  no  easy  matter  to  get  the  head  off;  the  cords  that  tie  that  on  are 
as  thick  as  your  finger.  It's  the  greatest  fun  out  there  you  ever  see, 
to  all  except  poor  goosey  colonist. 

"  'I've  larfed  ready  to  kill  myself  at  it.  Some  o*  these  Englishers 
that  come  out,  mounted  for  the  sport,  and  expect  a  peerage  as  a  re- 
ward for  bringin'  home  the  head  and  settlin'  the  business  for  colonist, 
do  cut  such  figurs,  it  would  make  you  split ;  and  they  are  all  so  ever^ 
lastin'  consaited,  they  won't  take  no  advice.  The  way  they  can't  do 
it  is  cautionary.  One  gets  throwed,  another  gets  all  covered  with 
grease,  a  third  loses  his  hat,  a  fourth  gets  run  away  with  by  his  horse, 
a  fifth  sees  he  can't  do  it,  makes  some  excuse,  and  leaves  the  ground 
afore  the  sport  is  over ;  and  now  and  then  an  unfortunate  critter  gets 
a  hyste  that  breaks  his  own  neck.  There  is  only  one  on  'em  that  I 
have  see'd  out  there,  that  can  do  it  right. 

**  'It  requires  some  experience,  that's  a  fact.  But  let  John  Bull 
alone  for  that ;  he  is  a  critter  that  thinks  he  knows  ever3rthing ;  and 
if  you  told  him  he  didn't,  he  wouldn't  believe  you,  not  he.    He'd 


8A1C  SLICK  IN  KNOLA.ND. 


119 


ishers 
a  re- 
onist, 
ever- 
'tdo 
with 
horse, 
round 
r  gets 
that  I 

Bull 
;  and 
He'd 


only  pity  your  ignorance,  »\nd  look  dreadful  sorry  for  you.  Oh,  if 
you  want  to  see  high  life,  come  and  see  *^  a  colonial  gander  pulling." 

** '  Tying  up  a  goose,  Sih,  is  no  great  harm,'  sais  I, '  seein'  that  a 
goose  was  made  to  be  killed,  picked  and  devoured,  and  nothin'  else. 
Tyin'  up  a  colonist  by  the  heels  is  another  thing.  I  don't  think  it 
right ;  but  I  don't  know  nothin' ;  I've  bad  the  book  too  close  to  my 
eyes.  Joe  H  o,  that  never  was  there,  can  tell  you  twice  as  much 
as  I  can  about  the  colonies.  The  focus  to  see  right,  as  I  said  afore, 
is  three  thousand  miles  off.' 

"  *  Well,'  sais  he,  '  that's  a  capital  illustration,  Mr.  Slick.  There 
is  more  in  it  than  meets  the  ear.  Don't  tell  me  you  don't  know 
nothin'  about  the  colonies ;  few  men  know  so  much  as  you  do.  I 
wish  to  heavens  you  was  a  colonist,'  sais  he  ;  '  if  you  were,  I  would 
offer  you  a  government.' 

"  *  I  don't  doubt  it,'  says  I ;  -  seein'  that  your  department  have 
advanced  or  rewarded  so  many  colonists  already.'  But  I  don't  think 
he  heard  that  shot,  and  I  wam't  sorry  for  it ;  for  it's  not  right  to  be 
a  pokin'  it  into  a  perlite  man,  is  it  ? 

" '  I  must  tell  the  Queen  that  story  of  the  Gander  PuUxng*  sais 
he  ;  '  I  like  it  amazingly.  It's  a  capital  caricature.  I'll  send  the 
idea  to  H.B.  Pray  name  some  day  when  you  are  disengaged  ;  I 
hope  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure,  of  dining  with  me.  Will  Uiis 
day  fortnight  suit  you  ?"'  "     *^ 

"  '  Thank  you,'  sais  I,  *  I  shall  have  great  pleasure.' 

"  He  railly  was  a  gentlemanly  man,  that.  He  was  so  good-natured, 
and  took  the  joke  so  well,  I  was  kinder  sorry  I  played  it  off  on  him, 
I  hante  see'd  no  man  to  England  I  affection  so  much  as  Mr.  Tact, 
I  swear !  I  begin  to  think,  arter  all,  it  was  the  right  of  sarchin* 
vessels  he  wanted  to  talk  to  me  about,  instead  of  sarchin*  me,  as  I 
suspicioned.  It  don't  do  always  to  look  for  motives  ;  men  often  act 
withovt  any.  The  next  time,  if  he  axes  me,  I'll  talk  plain,  and  jist 
tell  him  what  I  do  think  ;  but  still,  if  he  reads  that  riddle  right,  he 
may  lam  a  good  deal,  too,  from  the  story  of  '  the  Gander  PiiUing* 
mayn't  he?" 


CHAPTER   XX. 


THE    BLACK    STOLE. 


iU 


iXi  // 


:Ui 


Thb  foregoing  sketch  exhibits  a  personal  trait  in  Mr.  Slick's 
character,  the  present  a  national  one.  *  In  the  interview,  whether 
real  or  fanciful,  that  he  alleges  to  have  had  with  one  of  the  Secre- 
taries of  State,  he  was  not  disposed  to  give  a  direct  reply,  because 


»»iM"u)^f^p^^»T"w«ir' 


^ 


120 


THK  ATTACH^;  OB, 


his  habitual  caution  led  him  to  suspect  that  an  attempt  was  made 
to  draw  him  out  on  a  particular  topic  without  his  being  made  aware 
of  the  object.  On  the  present  occasion,  he  exhibits  that  irritability 
which  is  so  common  among  all  his  countrymen,  at  the  absurd  ac- 
counts ihat  travellers  give  of  the  United  States  in  general,  and 
the  gross  exaggerations  they  publish  of  the  state  of  slavery  in  par- 
ticular. 

That  there  is  a  party  in  this  country,  whose  morbid  sensibility  is 
pandered  to  on  the  subject  of  negro  emancipation,  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  as  is  proved  by  the  experiment  made  by  Mr.  Slick,  recorded 
in  this  chapter. 

On  this  subject  every  man  has  a  right  to  his  own  opinions,  but 
any  interference  with  the  municipal  regulations  of  another  country 
is  so  utterly  unjustifiable,  that  it  cannot  be  wondered  at  that  the 
Americans  resent  the  conduct  of  the  European  abolitionists  in  the 
most  unqualified  and  violent  manner. 

The  conversation  that  I  am  now  about  to  repeat  took  place  on  the 
Thames.  Our  visits,  hitherto,  had  been  restricted  by  the  rain  to 
London.  To-day,  the  weather  being  fine,  we  took  passage  on  board 
of  a  steamer,  and  went  to  Greenwich. 

While  we  were  walking  up  and  down  the  deck,  Mr.  Slick  again 
adverted  to  the  story  of  the  government  spies  with  great  warmth. 
I  endeavored,  but  in  vain,  to  persuade  him  that  no  regular  organ- 
ized system  of  espionage  existed  in  England.  He  had  obtained  a 
garbled  account  of  one  or  two  occurrences,  and  his  prejudice  (which, 
notwithstanding  his  disavowal,  I  knew  to  be  so  strong  as  to  warp  all 
hi.a  opinions  of  England  and  the  English),  immediately  built  up  a 
system,  which  nothing  I  could  say  could  at  all  shake. 

I  assured  him  the  instances  he  had  mentioned  were  isolated  and 
unauthorized  acts,  told  in  a  very  distorted  manner,  but  that  mitiga- 
ted, as  they  really  were,  when  truly  related,  they  were  at  the  time 
received  with  the  unanimous  disapprobation  of  every  right-thinking 
man  in  the  kingdom,  and  that  the  odium  which  had  fallen  on  the 
relators  was  so  immeasurably  greater  than  what  had  been  bestowed 
on  the  thoughtless  principals,  there  was  no  danger  of  such  things 
again  occurring  in  our  day.     But  he  was  immovable. 

**  Oh,  of  course,  it  isn't  true,"  he  said,  "  and  every  Englishman 
will  swear  it's  a  falsehood.  But  you  must  not  expect  us  to  disbe- 
lieve it,  nevertheless ;  for  your  travellers  who  come  to  America, 
pick  up,  here  and  there,  some  absurd  ontruth  or  another ;  or,  if 
they  are  all  picked  up  already,  invent  one ;  and  although  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  is  ready  to  take  their  Bible  oaths  it  is  a 
bam,  yet  the  English  believe  this  one  false  witness  in  prefrence  to 
the  whole  nation.  • 

"  You  must  excise  me.  Squire ;  you  have  a  right  to  your  opinion, 
though  it  seems  you  have  no  right  to  blart  it  out  always ;  but  I  am 


r, 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


121 


vas  made 
ide  aware 
rritability 
bsurd  ac- 
teral,  and 
ry  ia  par- 

isibilitj  is 
»n  be  no 
,  recorded 

inions,  but 
sr  country 
t  that  the 
ists  in  the 

lace  on  the 
he  rain  to 
e  on  board 

lick  again 
it  warmth, 
liar  organ- 
Dbtained  a 
ice  (which, 
0  warp  all 
built  up  a 

ated  and 
kat  mitiga- 

the  time 
it-thinking 
en  on  the 

bestowed 
ich  things 

nglishman 
3  to  disbe- 
America, 
er;  or,  if 
igh  every 
hs  it  is  a 
efrence  to 

ir  opinion, 
but  I  am 


y 


h 


a  freeman — I  was  raised  in  Slickville,  Onion  County,  State  of 
Connecticut,  United  States  of  America,  which  is  a  free  country, 
and  no  mistake  ;  and  I  have  a  right  to  my  opinion,  and  a  right  to 
speak  it,  too ;  and  let  me  see  the  man,  airl  or  commoner,  parlia- 
menterer  or  sodger  officer,  that  dare  to  report  me,  I  guess  he'd  wish 
he'd  been  born  a  week  later,  that's  all.  I'd  make  a  caution  of  him, 
/  know.  I'd  polish  his  dial-plate  fust,  and  then  I'd  feel  his  short 
ribs,  so  as  to  make  him  larf,  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle  the  loudest  he  ever 
heerd.  Lord,  he'd  think  thunder  and  lightnin'  a  mint  julip  to  it. 
I'd  ring  him  in  the  nose  as  they  do  pigs  in  my  country,  to  prevent 
them  rootin'  up  what  they  hadn't  ought." 

Having  excited  himself  by  his  own  story,  he  first  imagined  a  case 
and  then  resented  it,  as  if  it  had  occurred.  I  expressed  to  him  my 
great  regret  that  he  should  visit  England  with  these  feelings  and 
prejudices,  as  I  had  hoped  his  conversation  would  have  been  as  ra- 
tiona',  and  as  amusing  as  it  was  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  concluded  by 
saying  that  I  felt  assured  he  would  find  that  no  such  prejudice 
existed  here  against  his  countrymen,  as  he  entertained  towards  the 
English. 

"  Lord  love  you !"  said  he,  "  I  have  no  prejudice.  I  am  ♦he  most 
candid  man  you  ever  see.  I  have  got  some  grit,  but  I  ain't  ugly — 
I  ain't,  indeed." 

"  But  you  are  wrong  about  the  English ;  and  I'll  prove  it  to  you. 
Do  you  see  that  turkey  there  ?"  said  he. 

"  Where  ?"  I  asked.  "  I  see  no  turkey ;  indeed,  I  have  seen 
none  on  board.     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  that  slight,  pale-faced,  student-like  Britishei  ;  he  is  a 
turkey,  that  feller.  He  has  been  all  over  the  Union,  and  he  is  a 
goin'  to  write  a  book.  He  was  at  New  York  when  we  left,  and 
was  introduced  to  me  in  the  street.  To  make  it  liquorish,  he  has 
got  all  the  advertisements  about  runaway  slaves,  sales  of  niggers, 
cruel  mistresses  and  licentious  masters,  that  he  could  pick  up.  He 
is  a  caterer  and  panderer  to  English  hypocrisy.  There  is  nothin' 
too  gross  for  him  to  swaller.  We  call  them  turkeys  ;  first,  because 
they  travel  so  fast — for  no  bird  travels  hot  foot  that  way,  except  it 
be  an  ostrich — and  because  they  gobble  up  everything  that  comes 
in  their  way.  Tliem  fellers  will  swaller  a  falsehood  as  fast  as  a 
turkey  does  a  grasshopper ;  take  it  right  down  whole,  without 
winkin'. 

"  Now,  as  we  have  nothin'  above  particular  to  do,  'I'll  cram  him' 
for  you ;  I  will  show  you  how  hungry  he'll  bite  at  a  tale  of  horror, 
let  it  be  never  so  onlikely ;  hew  readily  he  will  believe  it,  because 
it  is  agin  us  ;  and  then,  when  his  book  comes  out,  you  shall  see  that 
all  England  will  credit  it,  though  I  swear  I  invented  it  as  a  cram, 
and  you  swear  you  heard  it  told  as  a  joke.  They've  drank  in  so 
much  that  is  strong,  in  thiss  way,  have  the  English,  they  require 

6 


122 


THE  attache;  or. 


Bomethin'  sharp  enough  to  tickle  their  palates  now.  Wine  hante 
no  taste  for  a  man  that  drinks  grog,  that's  a  fact.  It's  as  weak  as 
Taunton  water.  Come  and  walk  up  and  down  deck  along  with  me 
once  or  twice,  and  then  we  will  sit  down  by  him,  promiscuously 
like  ;  and  as  soon  as  I  get  his  appetite  sharp,  see  how  I  will  cram 
him." 

"  This  steam-boat  is  very  onsteady  to-day,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Slick  ;^ 
"  it's  not  overly  convenient  walking,  is  it  ?" 

The  ice  was  broken.  Mr.  Slick  led  him  on  by  degrees  to  his 
travels,  commencing  with  New  England,  which  the  traveller  eulo- 
gized very  much.  He  then  complimented  him  on  the  accuracy  of 
his  remarks  and  the  depth  of  his  reflections,  and  concluded  by  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  he  would  publish  his  observations  soon,  as  few 
tourists  were  so  well  qualified  for  the  task  as  himself. 

Finding  thest  preliminary  remarks  taken  in  good  part,  he  com- 
menc^id  the  process  of  "  cramming." 

"  But  oh,  my  friend,''  said  he,  with  a  most  sanctimonious  air,  "did 
you  visit,  and  I  am  ashamed  as  an  American  citizen  to  ask  the 
question,  I  feel  the  blood  a  tannin'  of  my  cheek  when  I  inquire,  did 
you  visit  the  South  ?  That  land  that  is  polluted  with  slavery,  that 
land  where  boastin'  and  crackin'  of  freemen  pile  up  the  agony  pangs 
on  the  corroding  wounds  inflicted  by  the  iron  chains  of  the  slave, 
until  natur  can't  stand  it  no  more ;  my  heart  bleeds  like  a  stuck 
critter,  when  I  think  of  this  plague  spot  on  the  body  politic.  I 
ought  not  to  speak  thus  ;  prudence  forbids  it,  national  pride  forbids 
it ;  but  genuwine  feelings  is  too  strong  for  poUite  forms.  *  Out  of 
the  fulness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.'  Have  you  been 
there  ?" 

"Turkey"  was  thrown  off  his  guard — ^he  opened  his  wallet, 
which  was  well  stocked,  and  retailed  his  stories,  many  of  them  so 
very  rich,  that  I  doubted  the  capacity  of  the  Attache  to  out-Herod 
him.  Mr.  Slick  received  these  tales  with  evident  horror,  and  com- 
plimented the  narrator  with  a  well  simulated  groan  ;  and  when  he 
had  done,  said,  "  Ah,  I  see  how  it  is — they  purposely  kept  dark 
about  the  most  atrocious  features  of  slavery.  Have  you  never  seen 
the  Gougin'  School?" 

"  No,  never."  .  • 

"  What,  not  seen  the  Gougin'  School  ?" 

"  No,  Sir ;  I  never  heard  of  it." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  so  ?"  ' 

"  I  do,  indeed,  I  assure  you."  « 

"  Well,  if  that  don't  pass !  And  vou  never  even  heard  tell  of  it, 
eh?" 

"  Never,  Sir,    I  have  never  either  seen  or  heard  of  it." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  I  doubt  if  any  Britisher 
ever  did  or  ever  will  see  it.    Well,  Sir,  in  South  Carolina,  there  is 


V 


mm 


SAM  SLICE  IS  ENGLAND. 


123 


a  man  called  Josiah  Wormwood;  I  am  ashamed  to  say  he  is  a  Con- 
necticut man.  For  a  considerable  of  a  spell,  he  was  a  stroUin' 
preacher,  but  it  didn't  pay  in  the  long  run.  There  is  so  mucli  com- 
petition in  that  line  in  our  country,  that  he  consaited  the  business 
was  overdone,  and  he  opened  a  Lyceum  to  Charleston  South  Car, 
for  boxin',  wrestlin',  and  other  purlite  British  accomplishments ; 
and  a  most  a  beautiful  sparrer  he  is,  too ;  I  don't  know  as  I  ever 
see  a  more  scientific  gentleman  than  he  is,  in  that  line.  Lately,  he 
has  halfed  on  to  it  the  art  of  gougin'  or  '  monokolism,'  as  he  calls 
it,  to  sound  grand  ;  and  if  it  weren't  so  dreadful  in  its  consequences, 
it  sartainly  is  a  most  allurin'  thing,  is  gougin'.  The  sleight-of-hand 
is  beautiful.  All  other  sleights,  we  know,  are  tricks ;  but  this  is 
reality ;  there  is  the  eye  of  your  adversary  in  your  hand ;  there  is 
no  mistake.  It's  the  real  thing.  You  feel  you  have  him  ;  that  you 
have  set  your  mark  on  him,  and  that  you  have  took  your  satisfac- 
tion. The  throb  of  delight  felt  by  a  ^monokolister'  is  beyond  all 
conception." 

"  Oh  heavens !"  said  the  traveller.  *'  Oh  horror  of  horrors  I  I 
never  heard  anything  so  dreadful.  Your  manner  of  telling  it,  too, 
adds  to  its  terrors.  You  appear  to  view  the  practice  with  a  proper 
Christian  disgust;  and  yet  you  talk  like  an  amateur.  Oh,  the  thing 
is  sickening !" 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  particularly  to  him  that  loses 
his  peeper.  But  the  dexterity,  you  know,  is  another  thing.  It  is 
very  scientific  He  has  two  niggers,  has  Squire  Wormwood,  who 
teach  the  wrastliq'  and  gouge-sparrin' ;  but  practisin'  for  the  eye  is 
done  for  punishment  of  runaways.  He  has  plenty  of  subjects.  All 
the  planters  send  their  fugitive  niggers  there  to  be  practised  on  for 
an  eye.  The  scholars  ain't  allowed  to  take  more  than  one  eye  out 
of  them ;  if  they  do,  they  have  to  pay  for  the  nigger ;  for  he  is  no 
sort  o'  good  ader  for  nothin'  but  to  pick  oakum.  I  could  go  through 
the  form,  and  give  you  the  cries  to  the  life,  but  I  won't ;  it  is  too 
horrid ;  it  really  is  too  dreadful." 

"  Oh  do,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  I  cannot,  indeed ;  it  is  too  shocking.    It  will  disgust  you." 
.  "  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Turkey.    "  When  I  know  it  is  simulated, 
and  not  real,  it  is  another  thing." 

"  I  cannot,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  It  would  shock  your  phi- 
lanthropic soul,  and  set  your  very  teeth  of  humanity  on  edge.  But 
have  you  ever  seen — the  Black  Stole  ?" 

"No." 

«  Never  seen  the  Black  Stole  ?" 

"  No,  never." 

"  Why,  it  ain't  possible  ?     Did  you  never  hear  of  it  nother  ?" 

"  No,  never.    Well,  now,  do  tell  1" 

"So  you  never  heerd  tell  of  it,  nor  never  sot  eyes  on  it  ?'' 


124 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


'*  Certainly  never." 

"  Well,  that  bangs  the  bush,  now  I  I  suppose  you  didn't.  Guess 
you  never  did,  and  never  will,  nor  no  other  traveller,  nother,  that 
ever  stept  in  shoe-leather.  They  keep  dark  about  these  atrocities. 
Well,  the  Black  Stole  is  a  loose  kind  of  shirt-coat,  like  an  English 
carter's  frock  ;  only,  it  is  of  a  different  color.  It  is  black  instead 
of  white,  and  made  of  nigger  hide,  beautifully  tanned,  and  dressed 
as  soft  as  a  glove.  It  ain't  every  nigger's  hide  that's  fit  for  a  stole. 
If  they  are  too  young,  it  is  too  much  like  kid  ;  if  they  are  too  old, 
it's  like  sole  leather,  it's  so  tough  ;  and  if  they  have  been  whipt,  as 
all  on  'em  have  a'most,  why  the  back  is  all  cut  to  pieces,  and  the 
hide  ruined.  It  takes  several  sound  nigger  skins  to  make  a  stole  ; 
but  when  made,  it's  a  beautiful  article,  that's  a  fact. 

"  It  is  used  on  a  plantation  for  punishment.  When  the  whip 
don't  do  its  work,  strip  a  slave,  and  jist  clap  on  to  him  the  Black 
Stole.  Dress  him  up  in  a  dead  man's  skin,  and  it  frightens  him 
near  about  to  death.  You'll  hear  him  screech  for  a  mile  a'most,  so 
'tarnally  skeered.  And  the  best  of  the  fun  is,  that  all  the  rest  of 
the  herd,  bulls,  cows,  and  calves,  run  away  from  him,  just  as  if  he 
was  a  painter." 

«  Fun,  Sir  !     Do  you  call  this  fun  ?" 

"Why  sartainly  I  do.  Ain't  it  better  nor  whippin'  to  death? 
Wat's  a  Stole  arter  all  ?  It's  nothin'  but  a  coat.  Philosophizin'  on 
it.  Stranger,  there  is  nothin'  to  shock  a  man.  The  dead  don't  feel. 
Skinnin',  then,  ain't  cruel,  nor  is  it  immoral.  To  bury  a  good  hide, 
is  waste — waste  is  wicked.  There  are  more  good  hides  buried  in 
the  States,  black  and  white,  every  year,  than  would  pay  the  poor- 
rates  and  state-taxes.  They  make  excellent  huntin'-coats,  and  would 
make  beautiful  razor-straps,  bindin'  for  books,  and  such  like  things ; 
it  would  make  a  noble  export.  Tannin'  in  hemlock  bark  cures  the 
horrid  nigger  flavor.  But  then  we  hante  arrived  at  that  state  of  phi- 
losophy ;  and  when  it  is  so  confined  to  one  class  of  the  human  family, 
it  would  be  dangerous.  The  skin  of  a  crippled  slave  might  be  worth 
more  than  the  critter  was  himself;  and  I  make  no  doubt,  we  should 
soon  hear  of  a  stray  nigger  being  shot  for  his  hide,  as  you  do  of  a 
moose  for  his  skin,  and  a  bear  for  his  fur. 

"  Indeed,  that  is  the  reason  (though  I  shouldn't  mention  it  as  an 
Attache)  that  our  government  won't  now  concur  to  suppress  the 
slave-trade.  They  say  the  prisoners  will  all  be  murdered,  and  their 
peels  sold ;  and  that  vessels,  instead  of  taking  in  at  Africa  a  cargo 
of  humans,  will  take  in  a  cargo  of  hides,  as  they  do  to  South  Amer- 
ica. As  a  Christian,  a  philanthropist,  indeed,  as  a  man,  this  is  a  hor- 
rid subject  to  contemplate,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  Turkey.  "  I  feel  a  little  overcome — ^head 
swims — I  am  oppressed  with  nausea — I  must  go  below." 

"  How  the  goney  swallered  it  all,  didn't  he  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick,  with 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


125 


great  glee.  "  Hante  he  a  most  beautiful  twist,  that  feller  ?  How  he 
gobbled  it  down,  tank,  shank  and  flank  at  a  gulp,  didn't  he.  Oh  he 
is  a  Turkey  and  no  mistake,  that  chap.  But  see  here,  Squire ;  jist 
look  through  the  skylight.  See  the  critter,  how  his  pencil  is  a  leg- 
gin'  it  off,  for  dear  life.  Oh,  there  is  great  fun  in  crammin'  those 
fellers.   ^ 

"  Now  tell  me  candid,  Squire ;  do  you  think  there  is  no  prejudice 
in  the  Britishers  agin  us  and  our  free  and  enlightened  country,  when 
they  can  swaller  such  stuff  as  the  Gougin'  School  and  Black  Stole  V* 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


THE  princ:e  de  joinville's  horse. 

"  There  is  more  in  that  story,  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  of 
the  Patron,  and  Sam's  queer  illustration  of  the  Cow's  Tail,  than  you 
are  aware  of.  The  machinery  of  the  colonies  is  good  enough  in 
itself,  but  it  wants  a  safety  valve.  When  the  pressure  within  is  too 
great,  there  should  be  something  devised  to  let  off  the  steam.  This 
is  a  subject  well  worthy  of  your  consideration ;  and  if  you  have  an 
opportunity  of  conversing  with  any  of  the  ministry,  pray  draw  their 
attention  to  it.  By  not  understanding  this,  the  English  have  caused 
one  revolution  at  home,  and  another  in  America." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  It  reminds  me  of  what  I  once  saw 
done  by  the  Prince  de  Joinville's  horse,  on  the  Halifax  road." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  you  shall  have  an  opportunity 
presently  of  telling  your  story  of  the  Prince's  horse,  but  suffer  me  to 
proceed. 

"  England,  besides  other  outlets,  has  a  never-failing  one  in  the  colo- 
nies, but  the  'colonies  have  no  outlet.  Cromwell  and  Hampden  were 
actually  embarked  on  board  of  a  vessel  in  the  Thames,  for  Boston, 
when  they  were  prevented  from  sailing  by  an  Order  in  Council. 
What  was  the  consequence  ?  The  sovereign  was  dethroned.  In- 
stead of  leading  a  small  sect  of  fanatical  puritans,  and  being  the  first 
men  of  a  village  in  Massachusetts,  they  aspired  to  be  the  first  men 
in  an  empire,  and  succeeded.  So  in  the  old  colonies.  Had  Wash- 
ington been  sent  abroad  in  command  of  a  regiment,  Adams  to  govern 
a  colony,  Franklin  to  make  experiments  in  an  observatory  like  that 
at  Greenwich,  and  a  more  extended  field  been  opened  to  colonial 
talent,  the  United  States  would  still  have  continued  to  be  dependen- 
cies of  Great  Britain. 

"  There  is  no  room  for  men  of  talent  in  British  America ;  and  by 


■w»»Hl!»W»w 


.,l>«uii  BVl.n         "1V,i  H"H^'  "»"•'  '•'■ 


^FW' 


126 


THE  attache;  OB, 


not  affording  them  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  themselves,  or 
rewarding  them  when  they  do,  they  are  always  ready  to  make  one, 
by  opposition.  In  comparing  their  situation  with  that  of  the  British 
Isles,  they  feel  that  they  labor  under  disabilities ;  these  disabilities 
they  feel  as  a  degradation ;  and  as  those  who  impose  that  degrada- 
tion live  three  thousand  miles  off,  it  becomes  a  question  whether  it 
is  better  to  suffer  or  resist." 

"  The  Prince  de  Joinville's  horse,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  is  a  case  in 
pint." 

"  One  moment,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell. 

"  The  very  word  *  dependencies'  shows  the  state  of  the  colonies. 
If  they  are  to  be  retained,  they  should  be  incorporated  with  Great 
Britain.  The  people  should  be  made  to  feel,  not  that  they  are  colo- 
nists, but  Englishmen.  They  may  tinker  at  constitutions  as  much 
as  they  please ;  the  root  of  the  evil  lies  deeper  than  statesmen  are 
aware  oi'.  O'Connell,  when  he  agitates  for  a  repeal  of  the  Union,  if 
he  really  has  no  ulterior  objects  beyond  that  of  an  Irish  Parliament, 
does  not  know  what  he  is  talking  about.  If  his  request  were  granted, 
Ireland  wouFi  become  a  province,  and  descend  from  being  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  empire,  into  a  dependency.  Had  he  ever  lived  in 
a  colony,  he  would  have  known  the  tendencies  of  such  a  condition. 

"  What  I  desire  to  see  is  the  very  reverse.  Now  that  steam  has 
united  the  two  continents  of  Europe  and  America,  in  such  a  manner 
that  you  can  travel  from  Nova  Scotia  to  England  in  as  short  a  time 
as  it  once  required  to  go  from  Dublin  to  London,  I  should  hope  for 
a  united  legislature.  Recollect  that  the  distance  from  New  Orleans 
to  the  head  of  the  Mississippi  River  is  greater  than  from  Halifax, 
N.S.,  to  Liverpool,  G.B.  I  do  not  want  to  see  colonists  and  Eng- 
lishmen arrayed  against  each  other,  as  different  races,  but  united  as 
one  people,  having  the  same  rights  and  privileges,  each  bearing  a 
share  of  the  public  burdeus,  and  all  having  a  voice  in  the  general 
government. 

"  The  love  of  distinction  is  natural  to  man.  Three  millions  of 
people  cannot  be  shut  up  in  a  colony.  They  will  either  turn  on  each 
other,  or  unite  against  their  keepers.  The  road  that  leads  to  retire- 
ment in  the  provinces  should  be  open  to  those  whom  the  hope  of  dis- 
tinction invi: '  '  oturn  and  contend  for  the  honors  of  the  empire. 
At  presei    ^^    ,;.. v  '  w  practically  closed." 

"If  ;  /if  f.  .jk  forever.  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "you 
couldn't  say  uo'      L'    -he  Prince  de  Joinville's  boss  on  that  subject." 

The  intorrni.  I'-i.  -  very  annoying;  for  no  man  I  ever  met  so 
thoroughly  understands  the  subject  of  colonial  government  as  Mr. 
Hopewell.  His  experience  is  greater  than  that  of  any  man  now 
living,  and  his  views  more  enlarged  and  more  philosophical. 

"  Go  on,  Sam,"  said  he,  with  great  good  humor.  "  Let  us  hear 
what  the  Prince's  horse  said." 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


127 


**  Well,*'  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  don't  jist  exactly  mean  to  say  he  spoke, 
as  Balaam's  donkey  did,  in  good  E.  glish  or  French  nother ;  but  he 
did  that  that  spoke  a  whole  book,  with  a  handsura  wood-cut  to  the 
fore,  and  that's  a  fact. 

"  About  two  years  ago,  one  mortal  brilin'  hot  day,  as  I  was  a  pokin' 
along  the  road  from  Halifax  to  Windsor,  with  Old  Clay  in  the  wag- 
gon, with  my  coat  off,  a  ridin'  in  my  shirt-sleeves,  and  a  thinkin'  how 
slick  a  mint-julep  would  travel  down  red-lane,  if  I  had  it,  I  heerd 
such  a  clatterin'  and  laughin',  and  screamin'  as  I  never  a'most  heerd 
afore,  since  I  was  raised. 

" '  What  in  natur'  is  this,'  sais  I,  as  I  gave  Old  Clay  a  crack  of  the 
whip,  to  push  on.  *  There  is  some  critters  here  I  guess,  that  have 
found  a  haw  huw's  nest,  with  a  tee  hee'a  egg  in  it.  What's  in  the 
wind  now  ?  Well,  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road  brought  me  to  where 
they  was,  and  who  should  they  be  but  French  officers  from  the 
Prince's  ship,  travellin'  incog,  in  plain  clothes.  But,  Lord  bless  you, 
cook  a  Frenchman  any  way  you  please,  and  you  can't  disguise  him. 
Natur'  will  out,  in  spite  of  all,  and  the  name  of  a  Frencher  is  written 
as  plain  as  anything  in  his  whiskers,  and  his  hair,  and  his  skin,  and 
his  coat,  and  his  boots,  and  his  air,  and  his  gait,  and  in  everythin', 
but  only  let  him  open  his  mouth,  and  the  cat's  out  of  the  bag  in  no 
time,  ain't  it  ?     They  are  droll  boys,  is  the  French,  that's  a  fact.  . 

"  Well,  there  was  four  on  'em  dismounted,  a  holdin'  of  their  bosses 
by  the  bridle,  and  a  standin'  near  a  spring  of  nice  cool  water ;  and 
there  was  a  fifth,  and  he  was  a  layin'  down  belly  flounder  on  the 
ground,  a  tryin'  to  drink  out  of  the  runnin'  spring. 

" '  Parley  vous  French,'  sais  I,  '  Mountsheer  ?'  At  that,  they  sot 
to,  and  larfed  again  more  than  ever,  I  thought  they  would  have  gone 
into  the  high  strikes,  they  hee-hawed  so. 

"  Well,  one  on  'em,  that  was  a  Duke,  as  I  found  out  arterwards, 
said,  *  O  yees,  Saar,  we  spoked  English  too.' 

" '  Lawful  heart !'  sais  I,  *  what's  the  joke  ?' 

" '  Why,'  sais  he,  *  look  there,  Sare.'  And  then  they  larfed  agin, 
ready  to  split ;  and  sure  enough,  no  sooner  had  the  Leftenant 
layed  down  to  drink,  than  the  Prince's  boss  kneeled  down,  and  put 
his  head  jist  over  his  neck,  and  began  to  drink  too.  Well,  the  officer 
couldn't  get  up  for  the  boss,  and  he  couldn't  keep  his  face  out  of  the 
water  for  the  boss,  and  he  couldn't  drink  for  the  boss,  and  he  was 
almost  choked  to  death,  and  as  black  in  the  face  as  your  hat.  And 
the  Prince  and  the  officers  larfed  so,  they  couldn't  help  him,  if  they 
was  to  die  for  it. 

"  Sais  I  to  myself  *  A  joke  is  a  joke,  if  it  tante  carried  too  far,  but 
this  critter  will  be  strangled,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  he  lays  here  splut- 
terin'  this  way  much  longer.'  So  I  jist  gives  the  boss  a  dab  in  the 
mouth,  and  made  him  git  up ;  and  then  sais  I,  *  Prince,'  sais  I,  for  I 
know'd  him  by  his  beard,  he  bad  one  exactly  like  one  of  the  old 


128 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


saint's  heads  in  an  Eyetalian  pictur,  all  dressed  to  a  pint,  so  sais  I, 
*  Prince,'  and  a  plaguy  handsum  man  he  is  too,  and  as  full  of  fun  as 
a  kitten,  so  sais  I, '  Prince,*  and  what's  better,  all  his  officers  seemed 
plaguy  proud  and  fond  of  him  too ;  so  sais  I, '  Prince,  voiia  le  con- 
dition of  one  colonist,  which,'  sais  I, '  Prince,  means  in  English,  that 
leftenant  is  jist  like  a  colonist.' 

"  '  Commong,'  says  he, '  how  is  dat  ?* 

"  '  Why,'  sais  I,  *  Prince,  when  ver  a  colonist  goes  for  to  drink  at 
a  spring  of  the  good  things  in  this  world  (and  plaguy  small  springs 
they  have  here  too),  and  fairly  lays  down  to  it,  jist  as  he  gets  his  lips 
cleverly  to  it,  for  a  swig,  there  is  some  cussed  neck  or  another,  of 
some  confounded  Britisher,  pops  right  over  him,  and  pins  him  there. 
He  can't  get  up,  he  can't  back  out,  and  he  can't  drink,  and  he  is 
blacked  and  blued  in  the  face,  and  most  choked  with  the  weight.* 

"  'What  country  was  you  man  of?'  said  he,  for  he  spoke  very  good 
for  a  Frenchman. 

"  With  that  I  straightened  myself  up,  and  looked  dignified,  for  I 
know'd  I  had  a  right  to  be  proud,  and  no  mistake ;  sais  I, '  Prince,  I 
am  an  American  citizen.'  How  them  two  words  altered  him. 
P'raps  there  beant  no  two  words  to  ditto  'em.  He  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  a  different  man  when  he  seed  I  wasn't  a  mean  onsarcum- 
sifed  colonist. 

" '  Very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Yankee,'  said  he, '  very  glad  indeed. 
Shall  I  have  de  honour  to  ride  with  you  a  little  way  in  your  car- 
riage ?' 

"  *  As  for  the  matter  of  that,*  sais  I,  *  Mountsheer  Prince,  the  ho- 
nour is  all  the  other  way,'  for  I  can  be  as  civil  as  any  man,  if  he  sets 
out  to  act  pretty  and  do  the  thing  genteel. 

"  With  that  he  jumped  right  in,  and  then  he  said  somethin'  in 
French  to  the  officers;  some  order  or  another,  I  suppose,  about 
comin  on  and  fetchin'  his  boss  with  them.  I  have  beam  in  my  time, 
a  good  many  men  speak  French,  but  I  never  see  the  man  yet,  that 
could  hold  a  candle  to  him.  Oh,  it  was  like  lightnin',  jist  one  long 
endurin'  streak ;  it  seemed  all  one  sentence  and  one  word.  It  was 
beautiful,  but  I  couldn't  onderstand  it,  it  was  so  everlastin'  fast. 

"  Now,'  sais  he,  *  set  sail.'  And  off  we  sot,  at  the  rate  of  sixteen 
notts  an  hour.  Old  Clay  pleased  him,  yo^  may  depend ;  he  turned 
round  and  clapped  his  hands,  and  larfed,  and  waved  his  hat  to  his 
officers  to  come  on ;  and  they  whipped,  and  spurred,  and  galloped, 
and  raced  for  dear  life ;  but  we  dropped  'em  astam  like  anything, 
and  he  larfed  again,  heartier  than  ever.  There  is  no  people  a'most, 
like  to  ride  so  fast  as  sailors ;  they  crack  on,  like  a  house  a  fire. 

"  Well,  arter  a  while,  sais  he,  '  Back  topsails,'  and  I  hauled  up, 
and  he  jumped  down,  and  outs  with  a  pocket  book,  and  takes  a 
beautiful  gold  coronation  medal.  (It  was  solid  gold,  no  pinchback, 
but  the  rael  yaller  stuff,  jist  fresh  from  King's  shop  to  Paris,  where 


I    ! 


^M  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND, 


129 


hi.s  money  is  made),  and  sais  he,  '  Mr.  Yankee,  will  you  accept 
that  to  remember  the  Prince  de  Joinville  and  his  horse  by  ?'  And 
then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  made  me  a  bow — ^and  if  that  Wam't  a 
bow,  then  I  never  see  one,  that's  all.  I  don't  believe  mortal  man, 
unless  it  was  a  Philadelphia  nigger,  could  make  such  a  bow.  It 
was  enough  to  sprain  his  ankle,  he  curled  so  low.  And  then  off  he 
went,  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  a  jump,  sailor  fashion,  back  to  meet  his 
people. 

"  Now,  Squire,  if  you  see  Lord  Stanley,  tell  him  that  story  of  the 
Prince  de  Joinville's  horse  ;  but  before  you  get  so  far  as  that,  pin 
him  by  admissions.  When  you  want  to  get  a  man  on  the  hip,  ax 
him  a  question  or  two,  and  get  his  answers,  and  then  you  have  him 
in  a  corner,  he  must  stand  and  let  you  put  on  the  bridle.  He  can't 
help  it,  no  how  he  can  fix  it. 

*'  Says  you,  '  My  Lord' — don't  forget  his  title— every  man  likes 
the  sound  of  that,  it's  music  to  his  ears,  it's  like  our  splendid  na- 
tional air,  Yankee  Doodle,  you  never  get  tired  of  it.  '  My  Lord,* 
sais  you,  *  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  reason  the  French  keep  Al- 
giers ?'  Well,  he'll  up  and  say,  it's  an  outlet  for  the  fiery  spirits  of 
France — it  gives  them  employment  and  an  opportunity  to  dis- 
tinguish themselves,  and  what  the  climate  and  the  inimy  spare, 
become  valuable  officers.  It  makes  good  soldiers  out  of  bad  sub- 
jects. 

'*  *  Do  yuu  call  that  good  policy  ?"  sais  you. 

''  Well,  he's  a  trump,  is  Mr.  Stanley — at  least  folks  say  so ; 
and  he'll  say  right  off  the  reel,  '  onquestionably  it  is — excellent 
policy.' 

"  When  he  says  that,  you  have  him  bagged — ^lie  may  fiounder  and 
spring  like  a  salmon  jist  caught ;  but  he  can't  get  out  of  the  landin' 
net.  You've  got  him,  and  no  mistake.  Sais  you,  *  What  outlet  have 
you  for  the  colonies  ?' 

"  Well,  he'll  scratch  his  head  and  stare  at  that,  for  a  space. 
He'll  hum  and  haw  a  little  to  get  breath,  for  he  never  thought  of 
that  afore,  since  he  grow'd  up  ;  but  he's  no  fool,  I  can  tell  you,  and. 
he'll  out  with  his  mould,  run  an  answer  and  be  ready  for  you  in  no 
time.  He'll  say,  *  They  don't  require  none,  Sir.  They  have  no 
redundant  population.     They  are  an  outlet  themselves.' 

"  Sais  you,  'I  wasn't  talking  of  an  outlet  for  population,  for  France 
Or  the  provinces  nother.  I  was  talking  of  an  outlet  for  the  clever 
men,  for  the  onquiet  ones,  for  the  fiery  spirits.' 

" '  For  that,  Sir,'  he  will  say,  '  they  have  the  local  patronage.* 

" '  Oh !'  sais  you,  '  I  warn't  aware,  I  beg  pardon,  I  have  been 
absent  some  time,  as  long  as  twenty  days,  or  perhaps  twenty-five — 
there  must  have  been  great  changes  since  I  left.' 

"  '  The  garrison  ?'  sais  you. 

"  *  Is  English,'  sais  he.  ^ 

6» 


TTT 


^wrmv^^'^mf^i^^mi^''^''wfw^^^^mimmmm 


*v 


180 


THU  ATTACH^;  OB, 


III 


"  •  The  armed  ships  in  the  harbor  ?' 

"  *  English.' 

'*  *  The  governor  and  his  secretary  ?' 

•*  *  English.' 

*'  *  The  principal  officer  of  customs  and  principal  part  of  his  depu- 
ties?' '     ' 

«*  English.' 

**  *  The  commissariat  and  the  statT?* 

"  *  English  to  a  man.' 

"  *  The  dockyard  people  ?* 

*'  *  English.' 

"  *  The  postmaster  gineral  ?' 
,     « *  English.' 

"  *  What,  English?*  sais  you,  and  look  all  surprise,  as  if  you  didn't 
know.  *  I  thought  he  was  a  colonist,  seein'  the  province  pays  so 
much  for  the  mails.' 

" '  No,'  he'll  say,  *  not  now ;  we  have  jist  sent  an  English  one 
over,  for  we  find  it's  a  good  thing  that.' 

"  *  One  word  more,*  says  you,  *  and  I  have  done.  If  your  army 
officers  out  there  get  leave  of  absence,  do  you  stop  their  pay  ?' 

«*No.' 

"  *  Do  you  sarve  native  colonists  the  same  way  ?' 

" '  No,  we  stop  half  their  salaries.' 

" '  Exactly,'  sais  you,  '  make  them  feel  the  difference.  Always 
make  a  nigger  feel  he  is  a  nigger,  or  he'll  get  sassy,  you  may  de- 
pend. As  for  patronage,'  sais  you,  *you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
all  that's  not  worth  havin',  is  jist  lefl  to  poor  colonist.  He  is  an  offi- 
cer of  militia,  gets  no  pay,  and  finds  his  own  fit-out.  Like  Don 
Quixote's  tailor,  he  works  for  nothin',  and  finds  thread.  Any  other 
little  matters  of  the  same  kind,  that  nobody  wants,  and  nobody 
else  will  take,  if  Blue-nose  makes  interest  for,  and  has  good  luck, 
he  can  get  as  a  great  favor,  to  conciliate  his  countrymen.  No,  Min- 
ister,' says  you,  '  you  are  a  clever  man,  everybody  says  you  are  a 
brick ;  and  if  you  ain't,  you  talk  more  like  one,  than  anybody  I 
have  seen  this  while  past.  I  don't  want  no  office  myself;  if  I  did, 
p'raps  I  wouldn't  talk  about  patronage  this  way ;  but  I  am  a  colo- 
nist, I  want  to  see  the  colonists  remain  so.  They  are  attached  to 
England,  that's  a  fact — ^keep  them  so  by  making  them  Englishmen. 
Throw  the  door  wide  open  ;  patronize  them  ;  enlist  them  in  the  im- 
perial sarvice,  allow  them  a  chance  to  contend  for  honors,  and  let 
them  win  them,  if  they  can.  If  they  don't  it's  their  own  fault,  and 
cuss  'em,  they  ought  to  be  kicked  ;  for  if  they  ain't  too  lazy,  there 
is  no  mistake  in  'em,  that's  a  fact.  The  country  will  be  proud  of 
them,  if  they  go  a-head.  Their  language  will  change  then.  It  will 
be  our  army,  the  delighted  critters  will  say,  not  the  English  army ; 
our  navy,  our  church,  our  pai'liament,  our  aristocracy,  &c.,  and  the 


SAM  SLICE  IN  BNOLAND. 


181 


word  English  will  be  left  out  holus-bolus,  and  that  proud,  that  en- 
dcarin'  word  "  our,"  will  be  insarted.  Do  this,  and  you  will  show 
yourself  the  first  statesman  of  modern  times.  You'll  rise  right  up 
to  the  toj)  of  the  pot,  you'll  go  clean  over  Peel's  head,  as  you  folks 
go  over  ourn,  not  by  jumpin'  over  him,  but  by  takin'  him  by  the 
neck  and  squeezin'  him  down.  You  'mancipated  the  blacks,  now 
liberate  the  colonists  and  make  Englishmen  of  them,  and  see  whether 
the  goneys  won't  grin  from  ear  to  ear,  and  show  their  teeth,  as  well 
as  the  niggers  did.  Don't  let  Yankee  clockmakers,  (you  may  say 
that  if  you  like,  if  it  will  help  your  argument,)  don't  let  travelliu' 
Yankee  clockmakers  tell  such  stories,  against  your  justice  and  our 
pride,  as  that  of  the  Prince  de  Joinville  and  his  horse.' " 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


LIFE    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


**  Here,"  said  Mr,  Slick,  "  Is  an  invitation  for  you  and  me,  and 
Minister,  to  go  and  visit  Sir  Littleeared  Bighead,  down  to  York- 
shire. You  can  go  if  you  like,  and  for  once,  p'raps  it's  worth  goin* 
to  see  1k)w  these  chaps  first  kill  time,  and  then  how  time  kills  them 
in  turn.  Eatin',  drinkin',  sleepin',  growlin*,  fowlin',  and  huntin' 
kills  time ;  and  gout,  aperplexy,  dispepsy,  and  blue  devils  kills 
them.  They  are  like  two  fightin'  dogs — one  dies  of  the  threshin'  he 
gets,  and  t'other  dies  of  the  wounds  he  got  a  killin'  of  him.  Tit  for 
tat ;  what's  sarce  for  the  goose,  is  sarce  for  the  gander. 

"  If  you  want  to  go.  Minister  will  go  with  you  ;  but  hang  me  if  I 
do.  The  only  thing  is,  it'll  puzzle  you  to  get  him  away,  if  he  gets 
down  there.  You  never  see  such  a  crotchical  old  critter  in  your  life 
as  he  is.  He  flies  right  off  the  handle  for  nothin'.  He  goes  strayin* 
away  off  in  the  fields  and  gullies,  a  browsin'  about  with  a  hammer, 
crackin'  up  bits  of  stones  like  walnuts,  or  pickin'  up  old  weeds, 
faded  flowers,  and  what  not ;  and  stands  starin'  at  'em  for  ever  so 
long,  through  his  eye-glass,  and  keeps  a  sayin'  to  himself,  '  Won- 
derful provision  of  natur !'  Airth  and  seas  !  what  does  he  mean  ? 
How  long  would  a  man  live  on  such  provision,  I  should  like  to 
know,  as  them  bitter  yarbs  ? 

"  Well,  then,  he'll  jist  as  soon  set  down  and  jaw  away  by  the  hour 
together  with  a  dirty-faced,  stupid  little  poodle  lookin'  child,  as  if  it 
was  a  nice  spry  little  dog  he  was  a  trainin'  of  for  trecin'  partridges  ; 


182 


TH£  AITACU^;   OR, 


or  talk  poetry  with  the  galls,  or  corn-law  with  t'  patriots,  or  any- 
thing.    Nothin'  comes  amiss  to  him. 

"  But  what  provokes  me,  is  to  hear  him  go  V^'uilin'  all  over  the 
country  about  homo  scenes,  and  beautiful  lando'japo,  and  rich  vnr- 
dure.  My  sakes,  the  vardure  here  is  so  deep,  it  Ic tks  like  mournin' ; 
it's  actilly  dismal.  Then  there's  no  water  to  give  light  to  the  pic- 
tur,  and  no  sun  to  cheer  it ;  and  the  hedges  are  ull  square  ;  and  the 
lino  trees  are  as  stitl'  as  an  old  gall  that  was  once  pretty,  and  has 
grown  proud  on  the  memory  of  it. 

*'  I  don't  like  their  landscape  a  bit — there  ain't  ao  natu;*  in  it.  Oh  1 
if  you  go,  take  him  along  with  you,  for  he  will  ]mt  you  in  consait  of 
all  you  sec,  except  reform,  dissent,  and  things  o'  t^iut  kind;  for  he  is 
an  out  and  out  old  Tory,  and  thinks  nothin'  can  '.';  changed  here  for 
the  better,  except  them  that  don't  agree  with  hin;, 

"  lie  was  a  warnin'  you  t'other  day  not  to  take  all  I  said  for  Gos- 
pel about  society  here  r  but  you'll  see  who's  right  anti  who's  wrong 
afore  you've  done,  I  know.  I  described  to  you.  whe*  you  returned 
from  Germany,  DinirC  out  to  London.  Now  ^  "4  give  you  my  j>pin- 
ion  of  ' Life  in  the  Country*  And  fust  of  aii,  as  I  was  a  sayin', 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  natur'  here.  Everything  is  artificial ; 
everything  of  its  kind  alike  ;  and  everything  onimcrestin'  and  tire- 
some. 

"  Well,  if  London  is  dull,  in  the  way  of  TV  t*8t  Send  people,  the 
country,  I  guess,  is  a  little  mucher.  Life  in  the  country  is  differ- 
ent, of  coui*se,  from  life  in  town ;  but  still  life  .elf  is  alike  there, 
exceptin'  again  class  difference.  That  is,  noH^  j;  is  all  alike,  as  far 
as  their  order  goes  ;  and  country  gents  is  al'ke,  r ,!  far  as  their  class 
goes  ;  and  the  last  especially,  when  they  hante  l.avelled  none,  ever- 
lastin'  flat,  in  their  own  way.  Take  a  lord,  now,  and  visit  him  to 
his  country  seat,  and  I'll  tell  you  whnt  yo ?.  will  find — ^a  sort  of 
Washington  State  House  place.  It  is  ei.  tci*  a  rail  old  castle  of  the 
genuine  kind,  or  a  gingerbread  crinku.<n  crankum  imitation  of  a 
thing  that  only  existed  in  fancy,  but  never  v  as  seen  afore — a  thing 
that's  made  modern  for  use,  and  in  ancrent  side  for  shew ;  or  else 
it's  a  great  cold,  formal,  slice  of  a  London  terrace,  stuck  on  a  hill  in 
a  wood. 

"  Well,  there  is  lawn,  park,  artificial  pond  called  a  lake,  deer 
that's  fashionableized  and  civilized,  and  as  little  natur  in  'em  as  the 
humans  have.  Kennel  and  hounds  for  parsicutin'  foxes — ^presarves 
(not  what  we  call  presarves,  quinces  and  apple  sarce,  and  green- 
gages done  in  sugar,  but  presarves  for  breedin*  tame  partridges  and 
pheasants  to  shoot  at),  H'aviaries,  ICive-eries,  H'yew-veries,  Hot 
Houses,  and  so  on  ;  for  they  put  an  H  before  every  word,  do  these 
critters,  and  then  tell  us  Yankees  we  don't  speak  English. 

"  Well,  then,  you  have  seen  an  old  and  a  new  house  of  these 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


188 


folks — you  have  netm  all.  Featurs  diflTer  a  little,  but  face  of  all  is 
80  alike,  timt  though  p'raps  you  wouldn't  mistake  one  for  another, 
yet  you'd  say  they  was  all  of  one  family,  '^he  king  is  their 
father. 

"  Now  it  may  seem  kinder  odd  to  you,  and  I  do  suppose  it  will, 
but  what  little  nature  there  is  to  England  is  among  these  upper 
crust  nobility.  Extremes  meet.  The  most  elegant  critter  in  Ameri- 
ca is  an  Indgian  chief.  The  most  elegant  one  in  England  is  a  no- 
ble. There  is  natur  in  both.  You  will  vow  tliat's  a  crotchet  of 
mine,  but  it's  a  fact ;  and  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is,  some  other  time. 
For  I  opine  the  most  charmin',  most  nateral,  least  artificial,  kindest, 
and  condescendcnest  people  here  are  rael  nobles.  Younger  chil- 
dren are  the  devil — half  rank  makes  'em  proud,  and  entire  poverty 
makes  'em  sour.  Strap  pride  on  an  empty  pms,  and  it  puts  a 
most  beautiful  edge  on — it  cuts  like  a  razor.  They  have  to  assart 
their  dignity — t'other  one's  dignity  don't  want  no  ussortin'.  It 
speaks  for  itself. 

"  I  won't  enter  into  particulars  now.  I  want  to  shew  you  coun- 
try life  ;  because,  if  you  don't  want  to  hang  yourself,  don't  tarry 
there,  that's  all ;  go  and  look  at  'em,  but  don't  stay  there.  If  you 
can't  help  it,  no  how  you  can  fix  it,  do  it  in  three  days ;  one  to 
come,  one  to  see  and  one  to  go.  If  you  do  that,  and  make  the  fust 
late,  and  the  last' airly,  you'll  get  through  it ;  for  it  won't  only  make 
a  day  and  a  half,  when  sumtotalized.  We'll  fancy  it — that's  better 
than  the  rael  thing,  any  time. 

"  80  lets  go  to  a  country  gentleman's  house,  or  '  landed,'  as  they 
call  *em,  cause  they  are  so  infornally  heavy.  Well,  his  house  is 
either  an  old  onconvenient  up  and  down,  crooked-laned,  bad  lighted, 
bad  warmed,  ind  shockin'  cut  up  in  small  rooms,  or  a  spic  and  span 
formal,  new  one,  havin'  all  or  most,  according  to  his  puss,  of  those 
things,  about  lords'  houses,  only  on  a  smaller  scale. 

"  Well,  I'll  arrive  in  time  for  dinner,  I'll  titivate  myself  up,  and 
down  to  drawin'-room,  and  whose  the  company  that's  to  dine  there  ? 
Why,  cuss  'em,  half  a  dozen  of  these  gents  own  the  country  for 
miles  round,  so  they  have  to  keep  some  company  at  the  house,  and 
the  rest  is  neighbors. 

"  Now,  for  goodness  gracious  sake,  jist  let's  see  who  they  be ! 
Why,  one  or  two  poor  parsons,  that  have  nothin'  new  in  'em,  and 
nothin'  new  on  'em,  goodish  sort  people  too,  only  they  larf  a  leetle, 
jist  a  leetle  louder  at  host's  jokes,  than  at  mine,  at  least,  I  suspicion 
it,  'cause  I  never  could  see  nothin'  to  larf  at  in  his  jokes.  One  or  two 
country  nobs  of  brother  landed  gents,  that  look  as  big  as  if  the 
whole  of  the  three  per  cent,  consols  was  in  their  breeches  pockets  ; 
one  or  two  damsels,  that  was  young  once,  but  have  confessed  to 
bein'  old  maids,  dropt  the  word  '  Miss,'  'cause  it  sounded  ridikilous, 
and  took  the  title  of  '  Mrs.'  to  look  like  widders.     Two  or  three 


134 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


I    ' 


wive-women  of  the  Chinese  stock,  a  bustin*  of  their  stays  off  a'raost, 
and  as  fat  as  show-beef;  an  oldest  son  or  two,  with  the  eend  of  the 
silver  spoon  he  ^as  bom  with,  a  peepin'  out  o'  the  comer  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  face  as  vacant  as  a  horn  lantern  without  a  candle  in 
it ;  a  younger  son  or  so  jist  from  college,  who  looks  as  if  he  had  an 
idea  he'd  have  to  aim  his  livin',  and  whose  lantern  face  look  as  if 
it  had  had  a  candle  in  it,  that  had  e'en  amost  burnt  the  sides  out, 
rather  thin  and  pale,  with  streaks  of  Latin  and  Greek  in  it;  one  or 
two  everlastin'  pretty  young  galls,  so  pretty,  as  there  is  nothin'  to 
do,  you  can't  hardly  help  bein'  spooney  on  *em. 

"  Matchless  galls  they  be,  too,  for  there  is  no  matches  for  'em. 
The  primur-genitur  boy  takes  all,  so  they  ha'^e  no  fbrtin.  Well,  a 
younger  son  won't  do  for  'em,  for  he  has  no  fortm,  and  t'other  primo 
geno  there,  couldn't  if  he  would,  for  he  wants  the  estate  next  to 
hisn,  and  has  to  take  the  gall  that  owns  it,  or  he  won't  get  it.  I 
pity  them  galls,  I  do,  updn  my  soul.  It's  a  hard  fate  that,  as  Min- 
ister sais,  in  his  pretty  talk,  to  bud,  unfold,  bloom,  wither,  and  die 
on  the  parent  stock,  and  have  no  one  to  pluck  the  rose,  and  put  it 
in  his  bosom,  ain't  it  ? 

"  Dinner  is  ready,  and  you  lock  and  lock,  and  march  off  two  and 
two,  to  t'other  room,  and  feed.  Well,  the  dinner  is  like  town  din- 
ner, there  ain't  much  difference,  there  is  some  :  there  is  a  difference 
atween  a  country  coat  and  a  London  coat ;  but  still  they  look  ai^Le, 
and  are  intended  to  be  as  near  the  same  as  they  can.  The  appotite 
is  better  than  town  folks,  and  there  is  more  eatin'  and  less  talkin', 
but  the  talkin',  like  the  eatin',  is  heavy  and  solemcoly. 

"  Now  do,  Mr.  Poker,  that's  a  good  soul,  now  do,  Squire,  look  at 
the  sarvants.  Do  you  hear  that  feller,  a  blowin'  and  a  wheesin'  like 
a  boss  that's  got  the  heaves  ?  Well,  he  is  so  fat  and  lazy,  and  mur- 
ders beef  and  beer  so,  he  has  got  the  assmy,  and  walkin'  puts  him 
out  o'  breath — ain't  it  beautiful !  Faithful  old  sarvant  that,  so 
attached  to  the  family  I  which  means  the  family  prog.  Always  to 
home  \  which  means  he  is  always  eatin'  and  drinkin',  and  hante 
time  to  go  out.  So  respectful !  which  means  bowin'  is  an  everlast- 
in' sight  easier,  and  safer,  too,  nor  talkin'  is.  So  honest !  which 
means,  parquisites  covers  all  he  takes.  Keeps  everythin'  in  such 
good  order !  which  means  he  makes  the  women  do  his  work.  Puts 
everythin'  in  its  place,  he  is  so  methodical !  which  means,  there  is 
no  young  children  in  the  house,  and  old  aunty  always  puts  things 
back  where  she  takes  'em  from.  For  she  is  a  good  bit  of  stuff,  is 
aunty — as  thin,  tough,  and  soople  as  a  painter's  palate  knife.  Oh, 
Lord !  how  I  would  like  to  lick  him  with  a  bran  new  cow  hide 
whip,  round  and  round  the  park,  every  day,  an  hour  afore  break- 
fast, to  improve  his  wind,  and  teach  him  how  to  mend  his  pace  I 
I'd  repair  his  old  bcllowses  for  him,  I  know. 

"  Then  look  at  the  butler,  how  he  tordles  like  a  terrapin ;  he  has 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


135 


got  the  gout,  that  feller,  and  no  wonder,  nother.  Every  decanter 
that  comes  in  has  jist  half  a  bottle  in  it,  the  rest  goes  in  tastin',  to  see 
it  aint  corked.  His  character  would  suffer  if  a  bit  o'cork  floated  in 
it.  Every  other  bottle  is  corked,  so  he  drinks  that  bottle,  and  opens 
another,  and  gives  master  half  of  it.  The  housekeeper  pets  him, 
calls  him  Mr.,  asks  him  if  he  has  heard  from  Sir  Philip  lately,  hintin' 
that  he  is  of  gentle  blood,  only  the  wrong  side  of  the  blanket,  and 
that  pleases  him.  They  are  both  well  to  do  in  the  world.  Vails 
count  up  in  time,  and  they  talk  big  sometimes,  when  alone  together, 
and  hint  at  wamin'  olf  the  old  knight,  marryin',  and  settin'  up  a  tripe 
shop,  some  o'  these  days ;  don't  that  hint  about  wedlock  bring  him  a 
nice  little  hot  supper  that  night,  and  don't  that  little  supper  bring  her 
a  tumbler  of  nice  mulled  wine,  and  don't  both  on  'em  look  as  knowin* 
as  a  boiled  codfish,  and  a  shelled  oyster,  that's  all. 

"  He  once  got  warned  himself,  did  old  Thomas,  so  said  he,  *  Where 
do  you  intend  to  go,  master  ?'  '  Me,'  said  the  old  man,  scratchin'  his 
head,  and  lookin'  puzzled, '  nowhere.'  *  Oh,  I  thought  you  intend  to 
leave,'  said  Thomas, '  for  /don't.'  '  Very  good  that,  Thomas,  come, 
I  like  haU'  The  old  knight's  got  an  anecdote  by  that,  and  nanny- 
goats  ain't  picked  up  every  day  in  the  country.  He  tells  that  to 
every  stranger,  every  stranger  larfs,  and  the  two  parsons  larf,  and 
the  old  '  Sir'  larfs-  so,  he  wakes  up  an  old  sleepin'  cough  that  most 
breaks  his  ribs,  and  Thomas  is  set  up  for  a  character. 

"  Well,  arter  sarvants  is  gone,  and  women  folks  made  themselves 
scarce,  we  haul  up  closer  to  the  table,  have  more  room  for  legs,  and 
then  comes  the  most  interestin*  part.  Poor  rates,  quarter  sessions, 
turnpikes,  corn-laws,  next  assizes,  rail-roads  and  parish  matters,  with 
a  touch  of  the  horse  and  dog  between  primo  and  secundo  genitur,  for 
variety.  If  politics  turn  up,  you  can  read  who  host  is  in  a  gineral 
way  with  half  an  eye.  If  he  is  an  ante-corn-lawer,  then  he  is  a  man- 
ufacturer that  wants  to  grind  the  poor  instead  of  grain.  He  is  a 
new  man  and  reformer.  If  he  goes  up  to  the  hub  for  corn-law,  then 
he  wants  to  live  and  let  live,  is  of  an  old  family^  and  a  tory.  Talk 
of  test  oaths  bein'  done  away  with,  why  Lord  love  you,  they  are  in 
full  force  here  yet.  See  what  a  feller  swears  by — that's  his  test, 
and  no  mistake. 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  gueas  now  there  was  so  much  to  talk  of, 
would  you  ?  But  hear  'em  over  and  over  every  day,  the  same  ever- 
lastin'  round,  and  you  would  think  the  topics  not  so  many  arter  all, 
I  can  tell  you.  It  soon  runs  out,  and  when  it  does,  you  must  wait 
till  the  next  rain,  for  another  freshet  to  float  these  heavy  logs  on. 

"  Coffee  comes,  and  then  its  up  and  jine  the  ladies.  Well,  then 
talk  is  tried  again,  but  it's  no  go ;  they  can't  come  it,  and  one  of  the 
good-natured  fat  old  lady-birds  goes  to  the  piany,  and  sits  on  the 
music  stool.  Oh,  Hedges  1  how  it  creaks,  but  it's  good  stuff,  I  guess, 
it  will  carry  double  this  hitch ;  and  she  sings,  '  1  wish  I  was  u  buL 


'w  'j'""j"»»!*mrn?"!P' 


'■I'  "'"-■ 


180 


THE   ATTACHE:   OR, 


terfly.'  Heavens  and  airth !  the  fust  time  I  heard  one  of  these 
hugeaceous  critters  come  out  with  that  queer  idee,  I  thought  I  should 
a  dropt  right  off  of  the  otterman  on  the  floor,  and  rolled  over  and 
over  a-Iaughin',  it  tickled  me  so,  it  makes  me  larf  now  only  to  think 
of  it.  Well,  the  wings  don't  come,  such  big  butterflies  have  to  grub 
it  in  spite  of  Old  Nick,  and  after  wishin'  and  wishin'  ever  so  long  in 
vain,  one  of  the  young  galls  sits  down  and  sings  in  rael  right  down 
airnest,  '  I  w(yn!t  be  a  nun.'  Poor  critter !  there  is  some  sense  in 
that,  but  I  guess  she  will  be  bleeged  to  be,  for  all  that. 

"  Now  eatin*  is  done,  talkin'  is  done,  and  singin'  is  done  ;  so  here 
is  chamber  candles,  and  oflF  to  bed,  that  is  if  you  are  a  stayin'  there. 
If  you  ain't,  '  Mr.  Weather  Mutton's  carriage  is  ready.  Sir,'  and  Mr. 
Weather  Mutton,  and  Mrs.  Weather  Mutton  and  the  entire  stranger 
get  in,  and  when  you  do,  you  are  in  for  it,  I  can  tell  you.  You  are 
in  for  a  seven  mile  heat  at  least  of  cross  country  roads,  axletree  deep, 
rain  pourin'  straight  up  and  down  like  Niagara,  high  hedges,  deep 
ditches  full  of  water,  dark  as  Egypt ;  ain't  room  to  pass  nothin'  if 
you  meet  it,  and  don't  feel  jist  altogether  easy  about  them  cussed  ali- 
gators  and  navigators,  critters  that  work  on  rail-roads  all  day,  and  on 
houses  and  travellers  by  night. 

"  If  you  come  with  Mr.  Weather  Mutton,  you  seed  the  carriage  in 
course.  It's  an  old  one,  a  family  one,  and  as  heavy  as  an  ox-cart. 
The  bosses  are  old,  family  bosses,  everlastin'  fat,  almighty  lazy,  and 
the  way  they  travel  is  a  caution  to  a  snail.  It's  vulgar  to  go  fast,  it's 
only  butcher's  horses  trot  quick,  and  besides,  there  is  no  hurry — 
there  is  nothin'  to  do  to  home.    Affectionate  couple !  happy  man !  he 

takes  his  wife's  hand  in  his kisses  it  ?     No,  not  he,  but  he  puts 

his  head  back  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  goes  to  sleep,  and 
dreams  of  her  ?  Not  he  indeed,  but  of  a  saddle  of  mutton  and 
cun*en'  jelly. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  a  stoppin'  at  Sir  Littleeared  Bighead's,  you  es- 
cape the  flight  by  night,  and  go  to  bed  and  think  of  home  and  natur'. 
Next  mornin',  or  rather  next  noon,  down  to  breakfast.  Oh,  it's  aw- 
fully stupid !  That  second  nap  in  the  mornin'  always  fuddles  the 
head,  and  makes  it  as  mothery  as  ryled  cyder  grounds.  Nobody 
looks  as  sweet  as  sugar-candy  quite,  except  them  two  beautiful  galls 
and  their  honey  lips.  But  them  is  only  to  look  at.  If  you  want 
honey,  there  is  some  on  a  little  cut  glass,  dug  out  of  a  dish.  But  you 
can't  eat  it,  for  lookin'  at  the  genume,  at  least  I  can't,  and  never 
could.     I  don't  know  what  you  can  do. 

"  P'raps  you'd  like  to  look  at  the  picturs,  it  will  sarve  to  pass  away 
time.  They  are  family  ones.  And  family  picturs  sarve  as  a  history. 
Our  Mexican  Indgians  did  all  their  history  in  picturs.  Let's  go  the 
round  of  the  room.  Lawful  heart !  what  a  big  *  Brown  ox'  that  is. 
Old  '  Star  and  Garters ;'  father  fatted  him.  He  was  a  prize  ox ;  he 
eat  a  thousand  bushel  of  turnips,  \s  thousand  pound  of  oil  cake,  a 


i  » 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


137 


thousand  of  hay,  and  a  thousand  weight  of  mangel  wurzel,  and  took 
a  thousand  days  to  fat,  and  weighed  ever  so  many  thousands  too.  I 
don't  believe  it,  but  I  don't  say  so,  out  of  manners,  for  I'll  take  my 
oath  he  was  fatted  on  porter,  because  he  looks  exactly  like  the  foot- 
man on  all  fours.     He  is  a  walking  ^  Brown  StoxU^  that  feller. 

"  There  is  a  hunter,  come,  I  like  bosses ;  but  this  brute  was  painted 
when  at  grass,  and  he's  too  fat  to  look  well,  guess  he  was  a  goodish 
boss  in  his  day  though.     He  ain't  a  bad  cut,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Hullo  I  what's  this  pictur  ?  Why,  this  is  from  our  side  of  the 
water,  as  I  am  a  livin'  sinner,  this  is  a  New-Foundlander,  this  dog ; 
yes,  and  he  is  of  the  true  gexmwine  breed  too,  look  at  his  broad  fore- 
head— his  dew-claws — his  little  ears ;  (Sir  Littleeared  must  have 
been  named  arter  him),  his  long  hair — his  beautiful  eye.  He  is  a 
first  chop  article  that ;  but,  oh  Lord,  he  is  too  shockin'  fat  altogether. 
He  is  like  Mother  Gary's  chickens,  they  are  all  fat  and  feathers.  A 
wick  run  through  'em  makes  a  candle.  This  critter  is  all  hair  and 
blubber ;  if  he  goes  too  near  the  grate,  he'll  catch  into  a  blaze  and 
set  fire  to  the  house. 

"  There's  our  friend  the  host,  with  cap  and  gold  tassel  on,  ridin* 
on  his  back,  and  there's  his  younger  brother  (that  died  to  Cambridge 
from  settin'  up  all  night  for  his  degree,  and  suppin'  on  dry  mathe- 
matics, and  swallerin' '  Newton'  whole),  younger  brother  like,  walkin' 
on  foot,  and  le.adin'  the  dog  by  the  head,  while  the  heir  is  a  scoldin* 
him  for  not  goin'  faster. 

"  Then,  there  is  an  old  aunty  that  a  forten  come  from.  She  looks 
like  a  bale  o'cotton,  fust  screwed  as  tight  as  possible,  and  then  corded 
hard.  Lord,  if  they  had  only  given  her  a  pinch  of  snuff,  when  she 
was  full  dressed  and  trussed,  and  sot  her  a  sneezin',  she'd  a  blowed 
up,  and  the  T^rtin  would  have  come  twenty  years  sooner. 

"Yes,  it's  a  family  pictur,  indeed,  they  are  all  family  picturs. 
They  are  all  fine  animals,  but  over  fed  and  under  worked. 

"  Now  it's  up  And  take  a  turn  in  the  gardens.  There  is  some 
splendid  flowers  on  that  slope.  You  and  the  galls  go  to  look  at  'em, 
and  jist  as  you  get  there,  the  grass  is  juicy  from  the  everlastin'  rain, 
and  awful  slippy ;  up  go  your  heels,  and  down  goes  stranger  on  the 
broad  of  his  back,  slippin'  and  slidin'  and  coastin'  right  down  the 
bank,  slap  over  the  light  mud-earth  bed,  and  crushin'  the  flowers  as 
flat  as  a  pancake,  and  you  yaller  ochered  all  over,  clean  away  from 
the  scruff  of  your  neck,  down  to  the  tip  eend  of  your  heel.  The  galls 
larf,  and  the  bed-room  maid  larfs ;  and  who  the  plague  can  blame 
them  ?  Old  Mann  don't  larf  though,  because  she  is  too  perlite,  and 
besides,  she's  lost  her  flowers,  and  that's  no  larfin'  matter ;  and  you 
don't  larf,  'cause  you  feel  a  little  the  nastiest  you  ever  did,  and  jist 
as  near  like  a  fool  as  to  be  taken  for  one,  in  the  dark,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Well,  you  renew  the  outer  man,  and  try  it  agin,  and  it's  look  at 
the  stable  and  bosses  with  Sir^Host,  and  the  dogs,  and  the  carriages, 


188 


THB  ATTACH^;   OB, 


and  two  American  trees,  and  a  peacock,  and  a  guinea  hen,  and  a 
gold  pheasant,  and  a  silver  pheasant,  and  all  that,  and  then  lunch. 
Who  the  plague  can  eat  lunch,  that's  only  jist  breakfasted  ? 

"  So  away  goes  lunch,  and  off  goes  you  and  the  *  Sir,'  a  tram- 
pousin'  and  a  trapsein'  over  the  wet  grass  agin  (I  should  like  to 
know  what  ain't  wet  in  this  country),  and  ploughed  fields,  and  wide 
ditches  chock  full  of  dirty  water,  if  you  slip  in,  to  souse  you  most 
ridikelous ;  and  over  gates  that's  nailed  up,  and  stiles  that's  got  no 
steps  for  fear  of  thoroughfare,  and  through  underwood  that's  loaded 
with  rain-drops,  away  off  to  t'other  eend  of  the  estate,  to  see  the 
most  beautiful  field  of  turnips  that  ever  was  seen,  only  the  flies  eat 
all  the  plants  up ;  and  then  back  by  another  path,  that's  slumpier 
than  t'other,  and  twice  as  long,  that  you  may  see  an  old  wall  with 
two  broke-out  winders,  all  covered  with  ivy,  which  is  called  a  ruin. 
And  well  named  it  is,  too,  for  I  tore  a  bran  new  pair  of  trousers, 
most  onhandsum,  a  scramblin'  over  the  fences  to  see  it,  and  ruined 
a  pair  of  shoes  that  was  all  squashed  out  of  shape  by  the  wet  and 
mud. 

"  Well,  arter  all  this  day  of  pleasure,  it  is  time  to  rig  up  in 
your  go-to-meetin*  clothes  for  dinner  ;  and  that  is  the  same  as  yes- 
terday, only  stupider,  if  that's  possible ;  and  that  is  Life  in  the 
Country. 

"  How  the  plague  can  it  be  otherwise  than  dull  ?  If  there  is 
nothin'  to  see,  there  can't  be  nothin'  to  talk  about.  Now  the  town 
is  full  c"  things  to  see.  There  is  Babbage's  machine,  and  Bank 
Goveniv>r's  machine,  and  the  Yankee  woman's  machine,  and  the 
flyin'  machine,  and  all  sorts  of  machines,  and  galleries,  and  tunnels, 
and  mesmerizers,  and  theatres,  and  flower-shows,  and  cattle-shows, 
and  beast-shows,  and  every  kind  of  show ;  and  what's  better  nor 
all,  beautiful  got-up  women,  and  men  turned  out  in  fust  chop 
style,  too. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  country  women  ain't  handsum  here,  'cause 
they  be.  There  is  no  sun  here ;  and  how  in  natur'  can  it  be  other- 
ways  than  that  they  have  good  complexions  ?  But  it  tante  safe  to 
be  caged  with  them  in  a  house  out  o'  town.  Fust  thing  you  both 
do,  is  to  get  spooney,  makin'  eyes  and  company-faces  at  each  other, 
and  then  think  of  matin',  like  a  pair  of  doves,  and  that  won't  an- 
swer for  the  like  of  you  and  me.  The  fact  is,  Squire,  if  you  want 
to  see  iDomen,  you  musn't  go  to  a  house  in  the  country,  nor  to  mere 
good  company  in  town  for  it,  tho'  there  be  first  chop  articles  in 
both  ;  but  you  must  go  among  the  big  bugs,  the  top-lofly  nobility, 
in  London ;  for  since  the  days  of  old  marm  Eve,  down  to  this  in- 
stant present  time,  I  don't  think  there  ever  was  or  ever  will  be 
such  splendiferous  galls  as  h&  there.  Lord,  the  fust  time  I  seed  'em 
it  put  me  in  mind  of  what  had  happened  to  me  at  New  Brunswick 
once.    Governor  of  Maine  sent  me  over  to  their  Governor's,  official- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


189 


like,  with  a  state  letter,  and  the  British  officers  axed  me  to  dine  to 
their  mess.  Well,  the  English  brags  so  like  niggers,  1  thought  I'd 
{)rovo  'em,  and  set  'em  off  on  their  old  trade  jist  for  fun.  So,  says 
I,  stranger  captain,  sais  I,  is  all  these  forks  and  spoons,  and  plates 
and  covers,  and  urns,  and  what  nots,  rael  genuioine  solid  silver,  the 
clear  thing,  and  no  mistake  ?  'Sartainly,'  said  he,  'we  have  nothin* 
but  silver  here.*  He  did,  upon  my  soul,  just  as  cool,  as  if  it  was 
all  true.  Well,  you  can't  tell  a  military  what  he  sais  ain't  credible, 
or  you  have  to  fight  him.  It's  considered  ongenteel,  so  I  jist  puts 
my  finger  on  my  nose,  and  winks,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  I  ain't  such 
a  cussed  fool  as  you  take  me  to  be,  I  can  tell  you.' " 

"  When  he  seed  I'd  found  him  out,  he  larfed  like  anything. 
Guess  he  found  that  was  no  go,  for  I  warn't  born  in  the  woods  to 
be  scared  by  an  owl,  that's  a  fact  Well,  the  fust  time  I  went  to 
lord's  party,  I  thought  it  was  another  brag  agin ;  I  never  see  nothin' 
like  it.  Heavens  and  airth,  I  most  jumpt  out  o'  my  skin.  Where 
onder  the  sun,  sais  I  to  myself,  did  he  rake  and  scrape  together 
such  super-superior  galls  as  these  ?  This  party  is  a  kind  o'  con- 
sarvitory — he  has  got  all  the  raree  plants  and  sweetest  roses  in 
England  here,  and  must  have  ransacked  the  whole  country  for  'em. 
Knowin'  I  was  a  judge  of  woman  kind,  he  wants  me  to  think  they 
are  all  this  way ;  it's  onpossible.  They  are  only  '  show  frigates,' 
arter  all ;  it  don't  stand  to  reason,  they  can't  be  all  clippers.  He 
can't  put  the  leake  into  me  that  way,  so  it  tante  no  use  tryin*. 
Well,  the  next  time,  I  seed  jist  such  another  covey  of  partridges — 
same  plumage,  same  step,  and  same  breed.  Well  done,  sais  I,  they 
are  intarmed  to  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes,  that's  a  fact,  but  they 
won't  find  that  no  easy  matter,  I  know.  Guess  they  must  be  done 
now — they  can't  show  another  presarve  like  them  agin  in  all  Brit- 
ain. What  trouble  they  do  take  to  brag  here,  don't  they  ?  Well, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  how  do  you  think  it  eventuated.  Squire? 
Why,  every  party  I  went  to  had  as  grand  a  show  as  them,  only 
some  on  'em  was  better — fact,  I  assure  you — it's  gospel  truth ;  there 
ain't  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it — text  to  the  letter.  I  never  see  nothin* 
like  it,  since  I  was  raised,  nor  dreamed  nothin*  like  it ;  and  what's 
more,  I  don't  think  the  world  has  nothin'  like  it  nother.  It  beats 
all  natur.  It  takes  the  rag  off  quite.  If  that  old  Turk,  Mahomed, 
had  seed  these  galls,  he  wouldn't  a  bragged  about  his  beautiful  ones 
in  paradise  so  everlastinly,  I  know ;  for  these  English  heifers  would 
have  beat  'em  all  holler,  that's  a  fact.  For  my  part,  I  call  myself  a 
judge.  I  have  an  eye  there  ain't  no  deceivin*.  I  have  made  it  a 
study,  and  know  every  pint  about  a  woman,  as  well  as  I  do  about  a 
boss ;  therefore,  if  I  say  so,  it  must  be  so,  and  no  mistake.  I  make 
all  allowances  lor  the  gear,  and  the  gettin'  up,  and  the  vampin',  and 
all  that  sort  o'  flash;  but  toggery  won't  make  an  ugly  gall  handsum, 
uo  how  you  can  fix  it.    It  may  lower  her  ugliness  a  leetle,  but  it 


140 


THE  attache:  or 


won't  raise  her  beauty,  if  she  hante  got  none.  But  I  warn't  a  talk- 
in'  of  nobility ;  I  was  a  talkin'  of  Life  in  the  Country.  But  the 
wust  of  it  is,  when  galls  come  on  the  carpet,  I  could  talk  all  day ; 
for  the  dear  little  critters,  I  do  love  'em,  that's  a  fact.  Lick!  it  sets 
me  crazy  a'most.  Well,  where  was  we  ?  for  petticoats  always  puts 
everything  out  o'  my  head.     Whereabouts  was  we  ?" 

"  You  were  saying  that  there  were  more  things  to  be  seen  in 
London  than  in  the  country." 

•'  Exactly ;  now  I  have  it.  I've  got  the  thread  agin.  So 
there  is. 

"  There's  England's  Queen,  and  England's  Prince,  v  nd  Hano- 
over's  King,  and  the  old  SworoHelt  that  whopped  Bony ;  and  he  is 
bettec  worth  seein'  than  anv        .  jow  livin'  on  the  face  ot  the  uni- 


varsal  airth,  let  t'other  one 


'le   '.  he  will,  that's  a  fact.     He  is  a 


great  man,  all  through  the  piece,  and  no  mistake.  If  there  was — 
what  do  you  call  that  word.  "  h^n  one  Tuan's  breath  pops  into  'nother 
man's  body,  changin'  lodginS;  like  ^" 

"  Do  you  mean  transmigration  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  if  there  was  such  a  thing  as  that,  I  should  say  it  was  old 
Liveoak  himself,  Mr.  Washington,  that  was  transmigrated  into  him, 
and  that's  no  mean  thing  to  say  of  him,  I  tell  you. 

"  Well,  now,  there's  none  o'  these  things  to  the  country ;  and  it's 
so  everlastin'  stupid,  it's  only  a  Britisher  and  a  nigger  that  could  live 
in  an  English  country-house.  A  nigger  don't  like  movin',  and  it 
would  jist  suit  him,  if  it  warn't  so  awful  wet  and  cold. 


w 


ill' 


Oh  if  I  was  President  of  these  here  United  States, 

I'd  suck  sugar-cand^  and  swing  voon  de  gates  ; 

And  them  I  didn't  hke,  I'd  strike  'em  off  de  docket, 

And  the  way  we'd  go  ahead,  would  be  akin  to  Davy  Crockit. 
With  my  zippy  dooden,  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey, 
With  my  zippy  dooden,  dooden  dooden,  dooden  dooden  dey. 

'*  It  might  do  for  a  nigger,  suckin'  sugar  candy  and  drinkin*  mint- 
julep  ;  but  it  won't  do  for  a  free  and  enlightened  citizen  like  me. 
A  country-house — oh  goody  gracious  !  the  Lord  presarve  me  from 
it,  I  say.  If  ever  any  soul  ever  catches  me  there  agin,  I'll  give  *em 
leave  to  tell  me  of  it,  that's  all.  Oh  go,  Squire,  by  all  means  ;  you 
will  find  it  monstrous  pleasant,  I  know  you  will.  Go  and  spend  a 
week  there  ;  it  will  make  you  feel  up  in  the  stirrups,  I  know.  P'raps 
nothin'  can  exceed  it.  It  takes  the  rag  otf  the  bush  quite.  It  caps 
all,  that's  a  fact,  does  ^Idfe  in  the  Country* " 


SAH  SLICK  IN  SNGLAND. 


141 


2  seen  in 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


BUNKUM, 


I  AM  not  surprised  at  th*^  views  expressed  by  Mr.  Slick  in  the 
previous  chapter.  He  has  led  too  active  a  life,  and  his  habits  and 
thoughts  are  too  business-like  to  admit  of  his  enjoying  retirement, 
or  accommodating  himself  to  the  formal  restraints  of  polished  so- 
ciety. And  yet,  after  making  this  allowance  for  his  erratic  life,  it 
is  but  fair  to  add  that  his  descriptions  were  always  exaggerated ; 
and,  wearied  as  he  no  doubt  was  by  the  uniformity  of  country  life, 
yet  in  describing  it,  he  has  evidently  seized  on  the  most  striking 
features,  and  made  them  more  prominent  than  they  really  appeared, 
even  to  his  fatigued  and  prejudiced  vision. 

In  other  respects,  they  are  just  the  sentiment  we  may  suppose 
would  be  naturally  entertained  by  a  man  like  the  Attach^,  under 
such  circumstances.  On  the  evening  after  that  on  which  he  had 
described  "Life  in  the  Country"  to  me,  he  called  with  two  "orders" 
for  admission  to  the  House  of  Commons,  and  took  me  down  with 
him  to  hear  the  debates. 

"  It's  a  great  sight,"  said  he.  "  We  shall  see  all  their  uppercrust 
men  put  their  best  foot  out.  There's  a  great  musterin'  of  the  tribes, 
to-night,  and  the  Sachems  will  come  out  with  a  great  talk.  There'll 
be  some  sport,  I  guess ;  some  hard  hittin',  scalpin',  and  tomahawkin'. 
To  see  a  Britisher  scalp  a  Britisher  is  equal  to  a  bull-fight,  any  time. 
You  don't  keer  whether  the  bull,  or  the  horse,  or  the  rider  is  killed, 
none  of  'em  is  nothin'  to  you  ;  so  you  can  enjoy  it,  and  hurror  for 
him  that  wins, 
of  julep,  but  I 
Come,  let's  go." 

We  were  shown  into  a  small  gallery,  at  one  end  of  the  legislative 
wall  (the  two  side  ones  being  appropriated  to  members),  and  with 
some  difficulty  found  sitting  room  in  a  place  that  commanded  a  view 
of  the  whole  house.  We  were  unfortunate.  All  the  great  speak- 
ers. Lord  Stanley,  Sir  Robert  Peel,  Sir  James  Graham,  Shiel,  and 
Lord  John  Russell,  had  either  already  addressed  the  Chair,  and 
were  thereby  precluded  by  the  rules  of  the  House  from  coming  for- 
ward again,  or  did  not  choose  to  answer  second-rate  men.  Those 
whom  we  did  heur,  made  a  most  wretched  exhibition.    About  ine 


I  don't  keer  who  carries  the  day,  the  valy  of  a  treat 
want  to  see  the  sport.    It's  excitin',  them  things. 


142 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


o'clock,  the  adjournment  took  place,  and  we  returned,  fatigued  and 
disappointed. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  beat  of  that,  Squire  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick. 
"  Don't  that  take  tlie  rag  off  quite  ?  Cuss  them  fellers  that  spoke, 
they  are  wuss  than  assembly  men,  hang  me  if  they  ain't ;  and  they 
ain't  fit  to  tend  a  bear  trap,  for  they'd  be  sure  to  catch  themselves, 
if  they  did,  in  their  own  pit-fall. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  Irishman  a  latherin'  away  with  both  arms, 
as  if  he  was  tryin'  to  thrash  out  wheat,  and  see  how  bothered  he 
looked,  as  if  he  couldn't  find  nothin'  but  dust  and  chaff  in  the  straw? 
Well,  that  critter  was  agin  the  Bill,  in  course,  and  Irish  like,  used 
every  argument  in  favor  of  it.  Like  a  pig  swimmin'  agin  stream, 
every  time  he  struck  out,  he  was  a  cuttiu'  of  his  own  throat.  He 
then  blob  blob  blobbered,  and  gog  gog  goggled,  till  he  choked  with 
words  and  passion,  and  then  sot  down. 

"  Then  that  English  Radical  feller,  that  spoke  with  great  voice, 
and  little  sense.  Ain't  he  a  beauty,  without  paint,  that  critter? 
He  know'd  he  had  to  vote  agin  the  Bill,  'cause  it  was  a  Grovern- 
ment  Bill,  and  he  know'd  he  had  to  speak  for  Bunkum^  and  there- 
fore—" 

"  Bunkum  !  "  I  said.     "  Pray,  what  is  that  ?" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  Bunkum  ?" 

"  No,  never."  '    ' 

*'  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  what  that  is  ?'* 

"  I  do  not,  indeed." 

"  Not  Bunkum  ?  Why,  there  is  more  of  it  to  Nova  Scotia  every 
winter,  than  would  paper  every  room  in  Government  House,  and 
then  curl  the  hair  of  every  gall  in  the  town.  Not  heer  of  BunJcum'^ 
Why,  how  you  talk  l" 

"  No,  never." 

"  Well,  if  that  don't  pass  !  I  thought  everybody  know'd  that 
word.  I'll  tell  you,  then,  what  Bunkum  is.  All  over  America, 
every  place  likes  to  hear  of  its  members  to  Congress,  and  see  their 
speeches ;  and  if  they  don't,  they  send  a  piece  to  the  paper,  en- 
quirin'  if  their  member  died  a  nateral  death,  or  was  skivered  with  a 
bowie  knife,  for  they  hante  seen  his  speeches  lately,  and  his  friends 
are  anxious  to  know  his  fate.  Our  free  and  enlightened  citizens 
don't  approbate  silent  members ;  it  don't  seem  to  them  as  if  Squash- 
ville,  or  Punkenville,  or  Lumbertown  was  right  represented,  unless 
Squashviile  or  Punkenville,  or  Lumbertown,  makes  itself  heard  and 
known,  ay,  and  feared  too.  So  every  feller,  in  bounden  duty,  talks, 
and  talks  tig  too ;  and  the  smaller  the  State,  the  louder,  bigger,  and 
fiercer  its  members  talk. 

"  Well,  when  a  critter  talks  for  talk  sake,  jist  to  have  a  speech  in 
the  paper  to  send  to  home,  and  not  for  any  othei-  airthly  puppus  but 
electioneering,  our  folks  call  it  Bunkum.    Now  liie  State  o'  Maine 


8AM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


143 


is  a  great  place  for  Bunkum — its  members  for  years  threatened  to 
run  foul  of  England,  with  all  steam  on,  and  sink  her,  about  the 
boundary  line,  voted  a  million  of  dollars,  payable  in  pine  logs  and 
spruce  boards,  up  to  Bangor  mills — and  called  out  a  hundred  thou- 
sand militia  (only  they  never  come),  to  captur*  a  saw  mill  to  New 
Brunswick — that's  Bunkum.  All  that  flourish  about  Right  o'  Sarch 
was  Bunkum — all  that  brag  about  hangin'  your  Canada  sheriff  was 
Bunkum.  All  the  speeches  about  the  Caroline,  and  Creole,  and 
Bight  of  Sarch,  was  Bunkum.  In  short,  almost  all  that's  said  in 
Congress,  in  the  colonies  (for  we  set  the  fashions  to  them,  as  Paris 
galls  do  to  our  milliners),  and  all  over  America,  is  Bunkum. 

"  Well,  they  talk  Bunkum  here,  too,  as  well  as  there.  Slavery 
speeches  are  all  Bunkum ;  so  are  reform  speeches,  too.  Do  you 
think  them  fellers  that  keep  up  such  an  everlastin'  gab  about  repre- 
sentation, care  one  cent  about  the  extension  of  franchise  ?  Why, 
no,  not  they ;  it's  only  to  secure  their  seats  to  gull  their  constituents, 
to  get  a  name.  Do  you  think  them  goneys  that  make  such  a  touss 
about  the  Arms'  Bill,  care  about  the  Irish  ?  No,  not  they ;  they 
wau't  Irish  votes,  that's  all — it's  Bunkum.  Do  you  jist  go  and 
mesmerise  John  Russell,  and  Macauley,  and  the  other  officers  of  the 
regiment  of  Reformers,  and  then  take  the  awkward  squad  of  recruits 
— fellers  that  were  made  drunk  with  excitement,  and  then  enlisted 
with  the  promise  of  a  shillin',  which  they  never  got,  the  sargeants 
having  drank  it  all ;  go  and  mesmerise  them  all,  from  General 
Russell  down  to  Private  Chartist,  clap  'em  into  a  caterwaulin*  or 
catalapsin'  sleep,  or  whatever  the  word  is,  and  make  'em  tell  the 
secrets  of  their  hearts,  as  Dupotet  did  the  Clear-voyancing  gall,  and 
jist  hear  what  they'll  tell  you. 

"  Lord  John  will  say — '  I  was  sincere !'  (and  I  believe,  on  my 
soul,  he  was.  He  is  wrong  beyond  all  doubt,  but  he  is  an  honest 
man,  and  a  clever  man,  and  if  he  had  taken  his  ovm  way  more,  and 
given  Powlet  Thompson  his  less,  he  would  a'  been  a  great  colony 
secretary ;  and  more's  the  pity  he  is  in  such  company.  He'll  get  off 
his  beam  ends,  and  right  himself  though,  yet,  I  guess).  Well,  he'd 
say — *■  I  was  sincere,  I  was  disinterested ;  but  I  am  disappointed.  I 
have  awakened  a  pack  of  hungry  villains  who  have  sharp  teeth, 
long  claws,  and  the  appetite  of  the  devil.  They  have  swallered  all 
I  gave  'em,  and  now  would  eat  me  up  without  salt,  if  they  could. 
Oh,  that  I  could  hark  back !  there  is  no  satisfying  a  movement  "party! 

"  Now,  what  do  the  men  say  (I  don't  mean  men  of  rank,  but  the 
men  in  the  ranks), — '  Where's  all  the  fine  things  we  were  promised 
when  Reform  gained  the  day  ?'  sais  they ; '  ay,  where  are  they  ?  for 
we  ai*e  wuss  off  than  ever,  now,  bavin'  lost  all  our  old  friends,  and 
got  bilked  by  our  new  ones  tarnationly.  What  did  all  their  fine 
speeches  end  in  at  last  ?     Bunkum;  damn  the  thing  cut  Bunkum. 

"  But  that  aint  the  wust  of  it,  nother.     Bunkum,  like  lyin',  is 


^  p 


144 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


plaguy  apt  to  make  a  man  believe  his  own  bams  at  last.  From 
telling  'em  so  often,  he  forgets  whether  he  grow'd  'em  or  dreamt 
'em,  and  so  he  stands  right  up  on  eend,  kisses  the  book,  and  swears 
to  'cm,  as  positive- as  the  Irishman  did  to  the  gun,  which  he  said  he 
know'd  ever  since  it  was  a  pistol.     Now  that^s  Bunkum. 

"  But  to  get  back  to  what^  we  was  a  talkin'  of,  did  you  ever  hear 
such  bad  speakin'  in  your  life,  now  tell  me  candid  ?  because  if  you 
have,  I  never  did,  that's  all.  Both  sides  was  bad,  it  aint  easy  to 
say  which  is  wus,  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  t'other,  nothin'  to 
brag  of  nary  way.  That  government  man,  that  spoke  in  their 
favor,  wam't  his  speech  rich  ? 

"  Lord  love  you  I  I  aint  no  speaker,  I  never  made  but  one  speech 
'^ince  I  w&s  raised,  and  that  was  afore  a  Slickville  legislatur,  and 
then  1  broke  down.  I  know'd  who  I  was  a  talkin'  afore ;  they  was 
men  that  had  cut  their  eye-teeth,  and  that  you  couldn't  pull  the  wool 
over  their  eyes,  nohow  you  could  fix  it,  and  I  was  young  then. 
Now  I'm  growed  up,  I  guess,  and  I've  got  my  narves  in  the  right 
place,  and  as  taught  as  a  drum ;  and  I  could  speak  if  I  was  in  the 
House  o'  Commons,  that's  a  fact.  If  a  man  was  to  try  there,  that 
was  worth  anythin',  he'd  find  he  was  a  flute  without  knowin'  it.  They 
don't  onderstand  nothin'  but  Latin  and  Greek,  and  I'de  buoy  out 
them  sand  banks,  keep  the  lead  agoin',  stick  to  the  channel,  and 
never  take  ground,  I  know.  The  way  I'd  cut  water  aint  no  matter. 
Oh,  Solomon !  what  a  field  for  good  speakin*  that  question  was  to- 
night, if  they  only  had  half  an  eye,  them  fellers,  and  what  a'most  a 
beautiful  mess  they  made  of  it  on  both  sides ! 

"  I  ain't  a  vain  man,  and  never  was.  You  know,  Squire,  I  hante 
a  mossel  of  it  in  my  composition ;  no,  if  you  was  to  look  at  me  with 
a  ship's  glass,  you  wouldn't  see  a  grease  spot  of  it  in  me.  I  don't 
think  any  of  us  Yankees  is  vain  people  ;  it's  a  thing  don't  grow  in 
our  diggins.  We  have  too  much  sense  in  a  giniral  way  for  that ; 
indeed,  if  we  wanted  any,  we  couldn't  get  none  for  love  nor  money, 
for  John  Bull  has  a  monopoly  of  it.  He  won't  open  the  trade.  It's 
a  home  market  he  looks  to,  and  the  best  of  it  is,  he  thinks  he  hante 
none  to  spare. 

"  Oh,  John,  John  Bull,  when  you  are  full  rigged,  with  your  white 
cravat  and  white  waistcoat  like  Young  England,  and  have  got  your 
go-to-meetin'  clothes  on,  if  you  ain't  a  sneezer,  it's  a  pity,  that's  all. 
No,  I  ain't  a  vain  man,  I  despise  it,  as  I  do  a  nigger ;  but.  Squire, 
what  a  glorious  field  the  subject  to-night  is  for  a  man  that  knows 
what's  what,  and  was  up  to  snuff,  ain't  it  ?  Airth  and  seas  I  if  I  was 
there,  I  could  speak  on  either  side ;  for  like  Waterloo  it's  a  fair  field ; 
it's  good  ground  for  both  parties.  Heavens,  what  a  speech  I  could 
make !  I'd  electrify  'era,  and  kill  'em  dead  like  lightnin',  and  then 
galvanise  'em  and  fetch  'em  to  life  agin,  and  then  give  them  exhili- 
ratin'  gass,  and  set  'em  a  laiiin',  till  they  fairly  wet  themselves  agin 


1^  ' 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


145 


with  cryin'.  Wouldn't  it  be  fun,  that's  all  ?  I  could  sting  Peel  so 
if  I  liked,  he'd  think  a  guUcy  nipper  had  bit  him,  and  he'd  spring 
right  off  the  floor  on  to  the  table  at  one  jump,  gout  or  no  gout,  ravin' 
mad  with  pain  and  say, '  I'm  bit  thro'  the  boot  by  Gosh ;'  or  if  I 
was  to  take  his  side,  for  I  care  so  little  about  the  British,  all  sides  is 
alike  to  me,  I'd  make  them  Irish  members  dance  like  ravin',  dis- 
tractin'  bed  bugs.  I'd  make  'em  howl,  first  wicked  and  then  dismal, 
I  know. 

"  But  they  can't  do  it,  to  save  their  souls  alive ;  some  has  it  in 
'era  and  can't  get  it  out,  physic  'em  as  you  would,  first  with  wanity, 
and  then  with  office ;  others  have  got  a  way  out,  but  have  nothin'  to 
<lrive  thro'  the  gate ;  some  is  so  timid,  they  can't  go  ahead ;  and 
others  are  in  such  an  infarnal  hurry,  they  spend  the  whole  time  in 
false  starts. 

"  No,  there  is  no  good  oratory  to  parliament  now,  and  the  English 
brag  so,  I  doubt  if  it  ever  was  so  good,  as  they  say  it  was  in  old 
times.  At  any  rate,  it's  all  got  down  to  ^Bunkum*  now.  It's 
makin'  a  speech  for  newspapers  and  not  for  the  House.  It's  to  tell 
on  voters  and  not  on  members.  Then,  what  a  row  they  make,  don't 
they?  Hear,  hear,  hear;  divide,  divide,  divide ;  oh,  oh,  oh;  haw, 
haw,  haw.  It  tante  much  different  from  stump  oratory  in  America 
arter  all,  or  speakin'  off  a  whiskey  barrel,  is  it  ?  It's  a  sort  of  divil 
me-kear-kind  o'  audience ;  independent  critters,  that  look  at  a  feller 
full  in  the  face,  as  sarcy  as  the  divil ;  as  much  as  to  say, '  Talk 
awav,  my  old  'coon,  you  won't  alter  me,  I  can  tell  you,  it's  all 
Bun.:um. 

**  Lord,  I  shall  never  forget  poor  old  Davy  Crocket's  last  speech ; 
there  was  no  *  Bunkum '  in  that.  He  despised  it ;  all  good  shots  do, 
they  aim  right  straight  for  the  mark  and  hit  it.  There's  no  shootin' 
round  the  ring,  with  them  kinder  men.  Poor  old  feller,  he  was  a 
great  hunter ;  a  great  shot  with  the  rifle,  a  great  wit,  and  a  great 
man.  He  didn't  leave  his  span  behind  him,  when  he  slipt  off  the 
handle,  I  know. 

"  Well,  he  stood  for  an  election  and  lost  it,  just  afore  he  left  the 
States ;  so,  when  it  was  over,  he  slings  his  powder-horn  on,  over  his 
shoulders,  takes  his  *  Betsey,'  which  was  his  best  rifle,  onder  his 
arm,  and  mounts  on  a  barrel,  to  talk  it  into  his  constituents,  and 
take  leave  of  'em. 

"  '  Feller  citizens,'  sais  he,  *  we've  had  a  fair  stand-up  fight  for  it, 
and  I'm  whipped,  that  are  a  fact ;  and  thar  is  no  denyin'  of  it.  I've 
come  now  to  take  my  leave  of  you.  You  may  all  go  to  H — 11  and 
I'll  go  to  Texas. 

*'  And  he  stepped  right  down,  and  went  over  the  boundary,  and 
jined  the  patriots  agin  Mexico,  and  was  killed  there, 

♦'  Why,  it  will  never  be  forgot,  that  speech.  It  struck  into  the 
bull's  eye  of  the  heart.    It  was  noble.    It  said  so  much  in  a  few 

7 


1 
1 

i 

h 

lii  ; 

1  ' 

146 


TUK  ATTACU^;   OR, 


words,  and  left  the  mind  to  fill  the  gaps  up.  Tlie  last  words  is  a 
sayin'  now,  and  always  will  be,  to  all  etamity.  Whenever  a  feller 
wants  to  show  how  indifferent  he  is,  he  jist  pais,  '  you  may  go  to 
(hem,  hem,  you  know,)  and  I'll  go  to  Texas.'  There  is  no  Bunkum 
in  that.  Squire. 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  good  speakin*  there,  speakin*  is  no  use.  Every 
feller  is  pledged  and  supports  his  party.  A  speech  don't  alter  no 
man's  opinions ;  yes,  it  may  alter  his  opinions,  but  it  don't  alter  his 
vote,  that  ain't  his'n,  it's  his  party's.  Still,  there  is  some  credit  in  a 
good  speech,  and  some  fun,  too.  No  feller  there  has  any  ridicule  ; 
he  has  got  no  ginger  in  him,  he  can  neither  crack  his  whip,  nor  lay 
it  on ;  he  can  neither  cut  the  hide  nor  sting  it.  Heavens !  if  I  was 
there  I  and  I'm  sure  it's  no  great  boastin'  to  say  I'm  better  than  such 
fellers,  as  them  small  fry  of  white  bait  is.  If  I  was  there,  give  me 
a  good  subject  like  that  to-night,  give  me  a  good  horn  oi  lignum 
vita;—" 

"  Lignum  vita; — what's  that  ?" 

"  Lord-o-massy  on  us !  you  don't  know  nothin'.  Squire.  Where 
have  you  been  all  your  born  days,  not  to  know  what  lignum  vitae  is  ? 
why,  lignum  vita;  is  hot  brandy  and  water,  to  be  sure,  pipin'  hot, 
scald  an  iron  pot  amost,  and  spiced  with  cloves  and  sugar  in  it,  stiff 
enough  to  make  a  tea-spoon  stand  up  in  it,  as  straight  as  a  dead 
nigger.  Wine  ain't  no  good,  it  goes  off  as  quick  as  the  white  beads 
off  of  champaign  does,  and  then  leaves  a  stupid  head-ache  behind  it. 
But  give  ma  the  subject  and  a  horn  of  lignum  vita;  (of  the  wickedest 
kind),  and  then  let  a  feller  rile  me,  so  as  to  get  my  back  up  like  a 
fightin'  cat's,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do,  I'd  sarve  him  as  our 
Slickville  boys  surve  the  cows  to  California.  One  on  *em  lays  hold 
of  the  tail,  and  the  other  skins  her  as  she  runs  strait  an  eend.  Next 
year,  it's  all  growed  ready  for  another  flayin'.  Fact,  I  assure  you. 
Lord !  I'd  skin  a  feller  so,  his  hide  would  never  grow  agin ;  I'd 
make  a  caution  of  him  to  sinners,  I  know. 

"  Only  hear  them  fellers  now  talk  of  extendin'  of  the  representa- 
tation ;  why  the  house  is  a  mob  now,  plaguy  little  better,  I  assure 
you.  Like  the  house  in  Cromwell's  time,  they  want '  Sam  Slick's* 
purge.  But  talkin'  of  mobs,  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  Swoi-ree,  I  told 
you  I'd  describe  that  to  yoxi,  and  I  don't  care  if  I  do  now,  for  I've 
jist  got  my  talkin'  tacks  aboard.     A  Swoi-ree  is — " 

"  We'll  talk  of  that  some  other  time,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  I ;  "it  is 
now  near  two  o'clock,  I  must  retire." 

'*  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose  it  is  e'en  a'most  time  to  be  a 
movin.'  But,  Squire,  you  are  a  Britisher,  why  the  plague  don't  you 
get  into  the  house  ?  you  know  more  about  colony  matters  than  the 
whole  bilin'  of  them  put  together,  quite  as  much  about  other  things, 
and  speak  like  a " 


8AM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


147 


"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  I,  rising  and  lighting  my  bed-room 
candle,  "  it  is  now  high  time  to  bid  you  good  night,  tor  you  arc  be- 
gi-^iing  to  talk  Bunkum" 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


THROWING    THE     LAVENDER. 

Mr.  Slick's  character,  like  that  of  many  of  his  countrymen,  is 
not  so  easily  understood  as  a  person  might  suppose.  We  err  more 
often  than  we  are  aware  of,  when  we  judge  of  others  by  ourselves. 
English  tourists  have  all  fallen  into  this  mistake,  in  their  estimate  of 
the  Americans.  They  judge  them  by  their  own  standard ;  they  at- 
tri'  ^e  effects  to  wrong  causes,  forgetting  that  a  different  tone  of  feel- 
ii  -x)duced  by  a  different  social  and  political  state  from  their  own, 
L_        .aturnlly  produce  dissimilar  results. 

Any  person  reading  the  last  sketch  containing  the  account,  given 
by  Mr.  Slick  of  the  House  of  Commons,  his  opinion  of  his  own  abili- 
ties as  a  speaker,  and  his  aspiration  after  a  seat  in  that  body  for  the 
purpose  of  "  skinning,"  as  he  calls  it,  impertinent  or  stupid  mem- 
bers, could  not  avoid  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  con- 
ceited blockhead ;  and  if  his  countrymen  talked  in  that  absurd  man- 
ner, they  must  be  the  weakest,  and  most  vain-glorious  people  in  the 
world. 

That  he  is  a  vain  man  cannot  be  denied — self-taught  men  are  apt 
to  be  so  everywhere ;  but  those  who  understand  the  New  England 
humor,  will  at  once  perceive,  that  he  has  spoken  in  his  own  name 
merely  as  a  personification,  and  that  the  whole  passage  means,  after 
all,  when  transposed  into  that  phraseology  which  an  Englishman 
M'ould  use,  very  little  more  than  this,  that  the  House  of  Commons 
presented  a  noble  field  for  a  man  of  abilities  as  a  public  speaker ; 
but  that  in  fact,  it  contained  very  few  such  persons.  We  must  not 
judge  of  words  or  phrases,  when  used  by  foreigners,  by  the  sense  we 
attribute  to  them,  but  endeavor  to  understand  the  meaning  they 
attach  to  them  themselves. 

In  Mexico,  if  you  admire  anything,  the  proprietor  immediately 
says,  "  Pray  do  me  the  honor  to  consider  it  yours,  I  shall  be  most 
happy,  if  you  will  permit  me,  to  place  it  upon  you  (if  it  be  an  orna- 
ment), or  to  send  it  to  your  hotel,"  if  it  be  of  a  different  description. 
All  this  means  in  English,  a  present ;  in  Mexican  Spanish,  a  civil 
speech,  purporting  that  the  owner  is  gratified,  that  it  meets  the 
approbation  of  his  visitor.    A  Frenchman,  who  heard  this  grandilo- 


148 


THE    ATTACH^;  OR, 


quent  reply  to  his  praises  of  a  horse,  astonished  his  friend  by  thank- 
ing him  in  terms  equally  amplified,  accepting  it,  and  riding  it  home. 

Mr.  Slick  would  be  no  less  amazed,  if  understood  literally.  He 
has  used  a  peculiar  style ;  here  again,  a  stranger  would  be  in  error, 
in  supposing  the  phraseology  common  to  all  Americans.  It  is  pecu- 
liar only  to  a  certain  class  of  persons  in  a  certain  state  of  life,  and  in 
a  particular  section  of  the  States.  Of  this  class,  Mr.  Slick  is  a  spe- 
cimen. I  do  not  mean  to  say  he  is  not  a  vain  man,  but  merely  that 
a  portion  only  of  that,  which  appears  so  to  us,  is  vanity,  and  that  the 
rest  and  by  far  the  greater  portion  too,  is  local  or  provincial  pecu- 
liarity. 

This  explanation  is  due  to  the  Americans,  who  have  been  grossly 
misrepresented,  and  to  the  English,  who  have  been  egregiously  de- 
ceived, by  persons  attempting  to  delineate  character,  who  were 
utterly  incapable  of  perceiving  those  minute  lights  and  shades,  with- 
out ivhich,  a  portrait  becomes  a  contemptible  daub,  or  at  most  a  mere 
caricature. 

"  A  di'oU  scene  that  at  the  house  o'  representatives  last  night,"  said 
Mr.  Slick  when  we  next  met,  "  warn't  it  ?  A  sort  o'  rookery,  like 
that  at  the  Shropshire  Squire's,  where  I  spent  the  juicy  day.  What 
a  darned  caw-caw-cawin'  they  keep,  don't  they  ?  These  members 
are  jist  like  the  rooks,  too,  fond  of  old  houses,  old  woods,  old  trees, 
and  old  harnts.  And  they  are  jist  as  proud,  too,  as  they  be.  Cuss 
'em,  they  won't  visit  a  new  man,  or  new  plantation.  They  are  too 
aristocratic  for  that.  They  have  a  circle  of  their  own.  Like  the 
rooks,  too,  they  are  privileged  to  scour  over  the  farmers'  fields  all 
round  home,  and  play  the  very  devil. 

"  And  then  a  fellow  can't  hear  himself  speak  for  'em ;  divide,  di- 
vide, divide,  question,  question,  question ;  cau,  cau,  cau ;  cau,  cau, 
cau.  Oh !  we  must  go  there  again.  I  want  you  to  see  Peel,  Stan- 
ley, Graham,  Shiel,  liussell,  Macauley,  Old  Joe,  and  so  on.  These 
men  are  all  upper  crust  here.  Fust  of  all,  I  want  to  hear  your  opin- 
ion of  'em.    I  take  you  to  be  a  considerable  of  a  good  judge  in  these 

« No  Bunkum,  Mr.  Slick."  •        ' 

"  D n  that  word  Bunkum !     If  you  say  that  'ere  agin,  I  won't 

say  another  syllable,  so  come  now.  Don't  I  know  who  you  are  ? 
You  know  every  mite  and  morsel  as  well  as  I  do,  that  you  be  a  con- 
siderable of  a  judge  of  these  critters,  though  you  are  nothin'  but  an 
outlandish  colonist ;  and  are  an  everlastin'  sight  better  judge,  too,  if 
you  com^i  to  that,  than  them  that  judge  t/ou.  Cuss  'em,  the  state 
would  be  a  nation  sight  better  sarved,  if  one  o'  these  old  rooks  was 
sent  out  to  try  trover  for  a  goose,  and  larceny  for  an  old  hat,  to  Nova 
Scotia,  and  you  was  sent  for  to  take  the  ribbons  o'  the  state  coach 
here ;  hang  me  if  it  wouldn't.  You  know  that,  and  feel  your  oats, 
too,  as  well  as  any  one.    So  don't  be  so  infamal  mealy-mouthed. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


U9 


with  your  mock  modesty  face,  a  turnin'  up  the  whites  of  your  eyes 
as  if  you  was  a  chokin',  and  sayin' '  No  Bun-kum,*  Mr.  Slick.  Cuss 
that  word  Bunkum !  I  am  sorry  I  ever  told  you  that  are  story,  you 
will  be  for  everlastinly  a  throwin*  up  of  that  are,  to  me  now. 

"  Do  you  think  if  I  wamted  to  soft  sawder  you,  I'd  take  the  white- 
wash brush  to  you,  and  slobber  it  on,  as  a  nigger  wench  does  to  a 
board  fence,  or  a  kitchen  wall  to  home,  and  put  your  eyes  out  with 
the  lime  ?  No,  not  I ;  but  I  could  tickel  you  though,  and  have  done 
it  afore  now,  jist  for  practice,  and  you  warn't  a  bit  the  wiser.  Lord, 
I'd  take  a  camel's-hair  brush  to  you,  knowin'  how  skittish  and  tickle- 
some  you  are,  and  do  it  so  it  would  feel  good.  I'd  make  you  feel 
kinder  pleasant,  I  know,  and  you'd  jist  bend  your  face  over  to  it,  and 
take  it  as  kindly  as  a  gall  does  a  v*hisper,  when  your  lips  keep  jist 
a  brushin'  of  the  cheek  while  you  are  a  talkin'.  I  wouldn't  go  to 
shock  you  by  a  doin'  of  it  coarse ;  you  are  too  quick  and  too  knowin* 
for  that.  You  should  smell  the  otter  o'  roses,  and  sniff,  sniff  it  up  your 
nostrils,  and  say  to  yourself,  '  How  nice  that  is,  aint  it  ?  Come,  I 
like  that,  how  sweet  it  sitinks !'  I  wouldn't  go  for  to  dash  scented 
water  on  your  face,  p.a  a  hired  lady  does  suds  on  a  winder  to  wash 
it,  it  would  make  you  start  back,  take  out  your  pocket-handkercher, 
and  say,  *  Come,  Mister  Slick,  no  nonsense,  if  you  please.'  I'd  do  it 
delicate,  I  know  my  man :  I'd  use  a  light  touch,  a  soft  brush,  and  a 
smooth  ily  rouge.'' 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  said,  "  you  overrate  your  own  powers,  and  over- 
estimate my  vanity.  You  are  flattering  yourself  now,  you  can't  flat- 
ter me,  for  I  detest  it." 

"  Creation,  man,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  have  done  it  now  afore  your 
face,  these  last  five  minutes,  and  you  didn't  know  it.  Well,  if  that 
don't  bang  the  bush.  It's  tarnation  all  over  that.  Tellin'  you,  you 
was  so  knowin*,  so  shy  if  touched  on  the  flanks ;  how  difiicult  you 
was  to  take  in,  bein*  a  sensible,  knowin'  man,  what's  that  but  soft 
sawder  ?  You  swallered  it  all.  You  took  it  off  without  winkin',  and 
opened  your  mouth  as  wide  as  a  young  blind  robbin  does  for  another 
worm,  and  then  down  went  the  Bunkum  about  making  you  a  Secre- 
tary of  State,  which  was  rather  a  large  bolus  to  swaller,  without  a  i 
draft ;  down,  down  it  went,  like  a  greased-wad  through  a  smooth  rifle  ^ 
bore;  it  did,  upon  my  soul.  Heavens!  what  a  take  'a!  what  a 
splendid  sleight-of-hand !  I  never  did  nothin'  better  in  all  my  bom 
days.  I  hope  I  may  be  shot,  if  I  did.  Ha  I  ha  1  ha  I  ain't  it  rich  ? 
Don't  it  cut  six  inches  on  the  rib  of  clear  shear,  that.  Oh  I  it's  han- 
sum,  that's  a  fact." 

"  It's  no  use  to  talk  about  it,  Mr.  Slick,"  I  replied ;  "  I  plead  guilty. 
You  took  me  in  then.  You  touched  a  weak  point.  You  insensibly 
flattered  my  vanity,  by  assenting  to  my  self-sufliciency,  in  supposing 
I  was  exempt  trom  that  universal  frailty  of  human  nature:  you 
*  threw  the  Lavender'  welL" 


150 


THE  ATTACHE;   OB, 


**  I  did  put  the  leake  into  you,  Squire,  that's  a  fact,"  said  he ;  "  but 
let  me  alone,  I  know  what  I  am  about ;  let  me  talk  on,  my  own  way. 
S  waller  what  you  like,  spit  out  what  is  too  strong  for  you ;  but  don't 
put  a  drag-chain  on  to  me,  when  I  am  a  doin'  tall  talkin'  and  set  my 
wheels  as  fast  as  pine  f  tumps.  You  know  me,  and  I  know  you. 
You  know  my  speed,  and  I  know  your  bottom,  don't  throw  back  in 
the  breetchin'  for  nothin'  that  way. 

^  Well,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  I  want  you  to  see  these  great  men,  as 
they  call  'em.  Let 's  weigh  'em,  and  measure  'em,  and  handle  'em, 
and  then  price  'em,  and  see  what  their  market  valy  is.  Don't  con- 
sider 'em  as  Tories,  or  Whigs,  or  Radicals  ;  we  hante  got  nothin'  to 
do  with  none  o'  them ;  but  consider  'em  as  statesmen.  It's  pot-luck 
with  'em  all ;  take  your  fork  as  the  pot  biles  up,  jab  it  in,  and  fetch 
a  feller  up,  see  whether  he  is  beef,  pork,  or  mutton  ;  partridge,  rab- 
bit, or  lobster ;  what  his  name,  grain,  and  flavor  is,  and  how  you  like 
him.     Treat  'em  indifferent,  and  treat  'em  independent. 

"  I  don't  care  a  chaw  o'  tobacky  for  the  whole  on  'em ;  and  none 
on  'em  care  a  pinch  o'  snuff  for  you  or  any  Hortentort  of  a  colonist 
that  ever  was  or  ever  will  be.  Lord  love  you !  if  you  was  to  write 
like  Scott,  and  map  the  human  mind  like  Bacon,  would  it  advance 
you  a  bit  in  preferment  ?  Not  it.  They  have  done  enough  for  the 
colonists,  they  have  turned  'em  upside  down,  and  given  'em  respon- 
sible government?  What  more  do  the  rascals  want?  Do  they 
ask  to  be  made  equal  to  us  ?  No,  look  at  their  social  system,  and 
their  political  system,  and  tell  'em  your  opinion  like  a  man.  You 
have  heard  enough  of  their  opinions  of  colonies,  and  suffered  enough 
from  their  erroneous  ones  too.  You  have  had  Durham  reports,  and 
commissioners'  reports,  and  parliament  reports  till  you  stomach 
refuses  any  more  on  'em.  And  what  are  they  ?  a  bundle  of  mis- 
takes and  misconceptions,  from  beginnin'  to  eend.  They  have  travel- 
led by  stumblin',  and  have  measured  everything  by  the  length  of 
their  knee,  as  they  fell  on  the  ground,  as  a  milliner  measures  lace, 
by  the  bendin'  down  of  the  foretinger— cuss  'em !  Turn  the  tables 
on  'em.  Report  on  thenif  measure  them,  but  take  care  to  keep  your 
feet  though,  don't  be  caught  trippin',  don't  make  no  mistakes. 

"  Then  we'll  go  to  the  Lord's  House — I  don't  mean  to  a  meelin' 
house,  though  we  must  go  there  too,  and  hear  McNeil  and  Chalmers, 
and  them  sort  o'  cattle ;  but  I  mean  the  house  where  the  nobles 
meet,  pick  out  the  big  bugs,  and  see  what  sort  o'  stuff  they  are 
made  of.  Let's  take  minister  with  us — he  is  a  great  judge  of  these 
things.  I  should  like  you  to  hear  his  opinion ;  he  knows  eveiythin' 
a'most,  though  the  ways  of  the  world  bother  him  a  little  sometimes ; 
but  for  valyin'  a  man,  or  stating  principles,  or  talkin'  politics,  there 
ain't  no  man  equal  to  him  hardly.  He  is  a  book,  that's  a  fact ;  it's 
all  there  what  you  want ;  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  cut  the  leaves. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


ni 


Name  the  word  in  the  index,  he'll  turn  to  the  page,  and  give  you 
day,  date,  and  fact  for  it.     There  is  no  mistake  in  him. 

"  That  cussed  provokin'  visit  of  yours  to  Scotland  will  shove  them 
things  into  the  next  hook,  I'm  afeered.  But  it  don't  f^ignify  nothin' ; 
you  can't  cram  all  into  one,  and  we  hante  only  broke  the  crust  yet, 
and  p'rhaps  it's  as  well  to  look  afore  you  leap  too,  or  you  might 
make  as  big  a  fool  of  yourself  as  some  of  the  Britishers  have  a 
writin'  about  us  and  the  provinces.  Oh  yes,  it's  a  great  advantage 
havin'  minister  with  you.  He'll  fell  the  big  stiff  trees  for  you ;  and 
I'm  the  boy  for  the  saplin's,  I've  got  the  eye  and  the  stroke  for  them. 
They  spring  so  confoundedly  under  the  axe,  does  second  growth  and 
underwood,  it's  dangerous  work,  but  I've  got  the  sleight  o'  hand 
for  that,  and  we'll  make  a  clean  field  of  it. 

"  Then  come  and  survey ;  take  your  compass  and  chain  to  the 
ground,  and  measure  and  lay  that  off — branch  and  bark  the  spars 
tor  snakin'  off  the  ground ;  cord  up  the  fire-wood,  tie  up  the  hoop- 
poles,  and  then  burn  off  the  trash  and  rubbish.  Do  it  workmanlike. 
Take  your  time  to  it,  as  if  you  was  workin*  by  the  day.  Don't 
hurry,  like  job-work;  don't  slobber  it  over,  and  leave  half  burnt 
trees  and  logs  strewed  about  the  suiface,  but  make  smack  smooth 
«vorL  Do  that,  Squire,  do  it  well,  and  that  is,  only  half  as  good  as 
you  can,  if  you  choose,  and  then — " 

"  And  then,"  said  I,  "  I  make  no  doubt  you  will  have  great  plea- 
sure *  in  throwin*  the  Laxender  againJ  " 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


^AIMING    HIGH 


I »» 


•*'  What  do  you  intend  to  do,  Squire,  with  your  two  youngest 
boys  ?"  iiaid  Mr.  Slick  to  me  to-day,  as  we  were  walking  in  the  Park. 

"  I  design  them,  I  said,  *'  for  professions.  One  1  shall  educate 
for  a  lawyer,  and  the  other  for  a  clergyman."  , 

"Where?'  ^'^ 

« In  Nova  Scotia." 

"  Exactly,"  says  he.  ^*  It  shows  your  sense ;  it's  the  very  place 
for  'em.  It's  a  fine  field  for  a  young  man  ;  I  don't  know  no  better 
one  nowhere  in  the  whole  univarsai  world.  When  I  was  a  boy 
larnin'  to  shoot,  sais  father  to  me,  one  day,  '  Sam,'  sais  he,  '  I'll  give 
you  a  lesson  in  gunniu'  that'a  worth  knowin'.  "^ktw  high"  my  boy; 
your  gun  naterally  settles  down  a  little  takin'  sight,  cause  your  arm 
gets  tu-ed,  and  wabbles,  and  the  ball  settles  a  little  while  it's  travel- 


152 


THE  ATTAGSk  ;  OB, 


lin'y  accordin'  to  a  law  of  natnr,  called  Franklin's  law ;  and  I  ob- 
sarve  you  always  hit  below  the  mark.  Now,  make  allowances  for 
these  things  in  gunnin',  and  "  aim  high"  for  your  life,  always.  And, 
Sam,'  sais  he,  *  I've  seed  a  great  deal  of  the  worid,  all  militoi^  men 
do.  I  was  to  Bunker's  Hill  durin'  the  engagement,  and  I  saw 
Washington  the  day  he  was  made  President,  and  in  course  must 
know  more  nor  most  men  of  my  age ;  and  I'll  give  you  another  bit 
of  advice,  "Aim  high'*  in  life,  and  if  you  don't  hit  the  bull's  eycj 
you'll  hit  the  "  first  circles,"  and  that  ain't  a  bad  shot  nother.' 

"  '  Father,'  says  I,  '  I  guess  I've  seed  more  of  the  world  than  you 
have,  arter  all.* 

" '  How  so,  Sam  ?'  sais  he. 

"  '  Why,'  sais  I,  '  father,  you've  only  been  to  Bunker's  Hill,  and 
that's  nothin' ;  no  part  of  it  ain't  too  steep  to  plough  j  it's  only  a 
sizeable  hillock,  arter  all.  But  I've  been  to  the  Notch  on  the  White 
Mountain,  so  high  up,  that  the  snow  don't  melt  there,  and  seed  five 
States  all  to  once,  and  half  way  over  to  England,  and  then  I've  seed 
Jim  Crow  dance.  So  there,  now  ?'  He  jist  up  with  the  flat  of  his 
hand,  and  gave  me  a  wipe  with  it  on  the  side  of  my  face,  that 
knocked  me  over ;  and  as  I  fell,  he  lent  me  a  kick  on  my  musn't- 
mention-it,  that  sent  me  a  rod  or  so  aibre  I  took  ground  on  all 
fours. 

" '  Take  that,  you  young  scoundrel  I'  said  he,  *  and  larn  to  speak 
respectful  next  time  to  an  old  man,  a  mihtarrf  man,  and  your  father, 
too.' 

"  It  hurt  me  properly,  you  may  depend.  '  Why,'  sais  I,  as  I 
picked  myself  up,  'didn't  you  tell  me  to  "aim  high,"  father  ?  So  I 
thought  I'd  do  it,  and  beat  your  brag,  that's  all.* 

"  Truth  is.  Squire,  I  never  could  let  a  joke  pass  all  my  life,  with- 
out havin'  a  lark  with  it.  I  was  fond  of  one,  ever  since  I  was  knee 
high  to  a  goose,  or  could  recollect  anythin'  amost ;  I  have  got  into 
a  horrid  sight  of  scrapes  by  'em,  that's  a  fact.  I  never  forgot  that 
lesson,  though — it  was  kicked  into  me ;  and  lessons  that  are  larnt  on 
the  right  eend,  ain't  never  forgot  amost.  I  have  '  aimed  high  *  ever 
since,  and  see  where  I  be  now.  Here  I  am  an  Attache,  made  out 
of  a  wooden  clock  pedlar.  Tell  you  what,  I  shall  be  '  embassador  * 
yet,  made  out  of  nothin'  but  an  'Attache ;'  and  I'll  be  President  of 
01 .  great  Bepublic,  and  almighty  nation  in  the  eend,  made  out  of  an 
embassador,  see  if  I  don't.  That  comes  of '  aimin'  high.*  What  do 
you  call  that  water  near  your  coach-house  ?" 

"A  pond." 

"  Is  there  any  brook  runnin'  in,  or  any  stream  runnin'  out  ?" 

«  No." 

"  Well,  that's  the  difference  between  a  lake  and  a  pond.  Now, 
set  that  down  for  a  traveller's  fact    Now.  where 


fish?" 


you  go 


i|ii|iUilJlM>|«mnP|ffppKr- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


153 


"  To  the  lakes,  of  course  ;  there  are  no  fish  in  the  ponds." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Slick  ;  "  that  is  what  I  want  to  bring  you 
to ;  there  is  no  fish  in  a  pond,  there  is  nothin*  but  frogs.  Nova 
Scotia  is  only  a  pond,  and  so  is  New  Brunswick,  and  such  outland- 
ish, out  o'  the  way,  little  crampt  up,  stagnant  places.  There  is  no 
'  big  fish '  there,  nor  never  can  be  ;  there  ain't  no  food  for  'em.  A 
colony  frog ! !  Heavens  and  airth,  what  an  odd  fish  that  is  I  A 
colony  pollywog !  do,  for  gracious  sake,  catch  one,  put  him  into  a 
glass  bottle  full  of  spirits,  and  send  him  to  the  Museum  as  a  curiosity 
in  natur.  So  you  are  a  goin'  to  make  your  two  nice  pretty  little 
smart  boys  a  pair  of  colony  frogs,  eh  ?    Oh  !  do,  by  all  means. 

"  You'll  have  great  comfort  in  'em.  Squire.  Monstrous  comfort. 
It  will  do  your  old  heart  good  to  go  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pond 
on  the  fust  of  May,  or  thereabouts,  accordin'  to  the  season,  jist  at 
sun  down,  and  hear  'em  sing.  You'll  see  the  little  fellers  swell  out 
their  cheeks,  and  roar  away  like  young  suckin'  thunders.  For  the 
frogs  beat  all  natur  there  for  noise  ;  they  have  no  notion  of  it  here 
at  all.  I've  seed  Englishmen  that  couldn't  sleep  all  night,  for  the 
cverlastin'  noise  these  critters  made.  Their  frogs  have  somethin' 
else  to  do  here  besides  singin'.  Ain't  it  a  splendid  prospect  that, 
havin'  these  young  frogs  settled  all  round  you  in  the  same  mud-hole, 
all  gathered  in  u  nice  httle  musical  family  party  ?  All  smart  fun 
this,  till  some  fine  day  we  Yankee  storks  will  come  down  and  gob- 
ble them  all  up,  and  make  clear  work  of  it. 

"  No,  Squire,  take  my  advice  now,  for  once  ;  jist  go  to  your  colo- 
ny minister  when  he  is  alone.  Don't  set  down,  but  stand  up  as  if 
you  was  in  aimest,  and  didn't  come  to  gossip,  and  tell  him,  '  Turn 
these  ponds  into  a  lake,'  sais  you,  '  my  lord  minister,  give  them  an 
inlet  and  an  outlet.  Let  them  be  kept  pure,  and  sweet,  and  whole- 
some, by  a  stream  runnin'  through.  Fish  will  live  there  then,  if 
you  put  them  in,  and  they  tvill  breed  there,  and  keep  up  the  stock. 
At  present  they  die  ;  it  ain't  big  enough  ;  there  ain't  room.'  If  he 
sais  he  hante  time  to  hear  you,  and  asks  you  to  put  it  into  writin', 
<lo  you  jist  walk  over  to  his  table,  take  up  his  lignum  vitffi  ruler  into 
your  fist,  put  your  back  to  the  door,  and  say,  '  By  the  'tarnal  em- 
pire, you  shall  hear  me  ;  you  don't  go  out  of  this,  till  I  give  you  the 
butt  eend  of  my  mind,  I  can  tell  you.  I  am  an  old  bull  frog  now  ; 
the  Nova  Scotia  pond  is  big  enough  for  me ;  I'll  get  drowned  if  I 
get  into  a  bigger  one,  for  I  hante  got  no  fins,  nothin'  but  legs  and 
arms  to  swim  with,  and  deep  water  wouldn't  suit  me,  I  ain't  fit  for 
it,  and  I  must  live  and  die  there — that's  my  fate  as  sure  as  rates.* 
If  he  gets  tired,  and  goes  to  get  up  or  to  move,  do  you  shake  the 
big  ruler  at  him,  as  fierce  as  a  painter,  and  say,  '  Don't  you  stir  for 
your  life  ;  I  don't  want  to  lay  nothin'  on  your  head,  I  only  want  to 
put  somethin'  in  it.  I  am  a  father,  and  have  got  youngsters.  I  am 
u  nyXivCy  and  have  got  countrymen.     Enlarge  our  sphere,  give  us  a 

7* 


1 


*T' 


164 


THE  ATTACHi^;  OB, 


chance  In  the  world.'  '  Let  me  out,'  he'll  say,  '  this  minute,  Sir,  or 
I'll  put  you  in  charge  of  a  policeman.'  *  Let  you  out,  is  it  ?'  sais 
you.  'Oh!  you  feel  bein' pent  up,  do  you?  I  am  glad  of  it.  The 
tables  are  turned  now — that's  what  we  complain  of.  You've  stood 
at  the  door,  and  kept  iis  in ;  now  I'll  keep  you  in  awhile.  I  want 
to  talk  to  you — that's  more  than  you  ever  did  to  us.  How  do  you 
like  bein'  shut  in  ?  Does  it  feel  good  ?  Does  it  make  your  dander 
rise  ?'  '  Let  me  out,'  he'll  say  agin,  <  this  moment.  Sir ;  how  dare 
you  ?*  *  Oh !  you  are  in  a  hurry,  are  you  ?*  sais  you.  '  You've 
kept  me  in  all  my  life ;  don't  be  oneasy  \£  I  keep  you  in  five  min- 
utes.' 

••  *  "Well,  what  do  you  want,  then  ?'  he'll  say,  kinder  peevish ; 
*  what  do  you  want  ?'  '  I  don't  want  nothin'  for  myself,'  sais  you. 
'I've  got  all  I  can  get  in  that  pond;  and  I  got  that  from  the  Whigs, 
fellers  I've  been  abusin'  all  my  life ;  and  I'm  glad  to  make  amends 
by  acknowledging  this  good  turn  they  did  me ;  for  I  am  a  Tory, 
and  no  mistake.  I  don't  want  nothin' ;  but  I  want  to  be  an 
Englishman.  I  don't  want  to  be  an  English  subject;  do  you  under- 
stand that  now  ?  K  you  don't,  this  is  the  meanin',  that  there  is  no 
fun  in  bein'  a  fag,  if  you  are  never  to  have  a  fag  yourself.  Give  us 
all  fair  play.  Don't  move  now,'  sais  you,  *  for  I'm  gettin'  warm ; 
I'm  gettin'  spotty  on  the  back,  my  bristles  is  up,  and  I  might  hurt 
you  with  this  ruler ;  it's  a  tender  pint  this,  for  I've  rubbed  the  skin 
oflF  of  a  sore  place  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  a  gospel  truth,  and  mind  what 
I  tell  you,  for  nobody  else  has  sense  enough,  and  if  they  had,  they 
hante  courage  enough.  If  you  dorUt  make  Englishmen  of  us,  the 
force  of  circumstances  will  make  Yankees  of  us,  as  sure  as  you 
are  born.'  He'll  stare  at  that.  He  is  a  clever  man,  and  ain't 
wantin'  in  gumption.  He  is  no  fool,  that's  a  fact.  '  Is  it  no  com- 
pliment to  you  and  your  institutions,  this  ?'  sais  you.  '  Don't  it 
make  you  feel  proud  that  even  independence  won't  tempt  us  to  dis- 
solve the  connexion  ?  Ain't  it  a  noble  proof  of  your  good  qualities 
that,  instead  of  agitatin'  for  Repeal  of  the  Union,  we  want  a  closer 
union  ?  But  have  we  no  pride,  too  ?  "We  would  be  onworthy  of 
the  name  of  Englishmen,  if  we  hadn't  it,  and  we  won't  stand  beg- 
gin'  for  ever,  I  tell  you.  Here's  our  hands,  give  us  yourn  ;  let's  be 
all  Englishmen  together.  Give  us  a  chance,  and  if  us,  young  Eng- 
lish boys,  don't  astonish  you  old  English,  my  name  ain't  Tom  Poker, 
that's  all.'  '  Sit  down,'  he'll  say,  '  Mr.  Poker ;  *  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  that ;  sit  down  ;  I  am  interested.' 

"  The  instant  he  sais  that,  take  your  ruler,  lay  it  down  on  the 
table,  pick  up  your  hat,  make  a  scrape  with  your  hind  leg,  and  say, 
'I  regret  I  have  detained  you  so  long.  Sir.  I  am  most  peskily 
afraid  my  warmth  has  kinder  betrayed  me  into  rudeness.  I  railly 
beg  pardon,  I  do,  upon  my  soul.  I  feel  I  have  smashed  down  all 
decency — I  am  horrid  ashamed  of  myself.'    "Well,  he  won't  say  you 


•._:;;*- 


SAM  SLICK  IX   EXOLAND. 


165 


hante  rode  the  high  hoss,  and  done  the  unhandsum  thing,  because  it 
wouldn't  be  true  if  he  did  ;  but  he'll  say,  '  Fray  be  seated.  I  can 
make  allowances,  Sir,  even  for  intemperate  zeal.  And  this  is  a 
very  important  subject,  very  indeed.  There  is  a  monstrous  deal  in 
what  you  say,  though  you  have,  I  must  say,  rather  a  peculiar,  an 
unusual  way  of  puttin'  it.'  Don't  you  stay  another  minit,  though, 
nor  say  another  word,  for  your  life ;  but  bow,  beg  pardon,  hold  in 
your  breath,  that  your  face  may  look  red,  as  if  you  was  blushin', 
and  back  out,  staru  fust.  Whenever  you  make  an  impression  on  a 
man,  stop  ;  your  reasonin'  and  details  may  ruin  you.  Like  a  feller 
who  sais  a  good  thing,  he'd  better  shove  off,  and  leave  every  one 
larfin'  at  his  wit,  than  stop  and  tire  them  out,  till  they  say  what  a 
great  screw  augur  that  is.  Well,  if  you  find  he  opens  the  colonies, 
■and  patronizes  the  smart  folks,  leave  your  sons  there  if  you  like, 
and  let  'em  work  up,  and  work  out  of  it,  if  they  are  fit,  and  time 
and  opportunity  offers.  But  one  thing  is  sartin — the  very  openin* 
of  the  door  will  open  their  minds,  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  he 
don't  do  it,  and  I  can  tell  you  before  hand  he  won't — for  they 
actiJly  hante  got  time  here  to  think  of  these  things — send  your 
boys  here  into  the  great  world.  Sais  you  to  the  young  Lawyer, 
*  Bob,'  sais  you,  "  *  aim  high."  If  you  don't  get  to  be  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, I  shall  never  die  in  peace.  I've  set  my  heart  on  it.  It's 
within  your  reach,  if  you  are  good  for  anything.  Let  me  see  the 
great  seal — let  me  handle  it  before  I  die^do,  that's  a  dear ;  if  not, 
go  back  to  jour  Colony  pond,  and  sing  with  your  provincial  frogs, 
and  I  hope  to  Heaven  the  fust  long-legged  bittern  that  comes  there 
will  make  a  supper  of  you.* 

"  Then  sais  you  to  the  young  parson,  *  Arthur,*  sais  you,  '  Natur 
jist  made  you  for  a  clergyman.  Now,  do  you  jist  make  yourself 
*'  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.*'  My  death-bed  scene  will  be  an  aw- 
ful one,  if  I  don't  see  you  ^  the  Primate  ;"  for  my  affections,  my 
hopes,  my  heart,  is  fixed  on  it.  I  shall  be  willin'  to  die  then,  I 
ahall  depart  in  peace,  and  leave  this  world  happy.  And,  Arthur,' 
sais  you,  *  they  talk  and  brag  here  till  one  is  sick  of  the  sound 
a'most  about  "  Addison's  death-bed."  Good  people  refer  to  it  as  an 
example,  authors  as  a  theatrical  scene,  and  hvpocrites  as  a  grand 
illustration  for  them  to  turn  up  the  whites  of  iidir  cold  can  tin'  eyes 
at.  Lord  love  you,  my  son,'  sais  you,  '  let  them  brag  of  it ;  but 
what  would  it  be  to  mine  ;  you  congratulatin'  me  on  goin'  to  a  bet- 
ter world,  and  me  congratulatin'  you  on  bein'  "Archbishop." 
Then,'  says  you,  in  a  starn  voice  like  a  boatsan's  trumpet — for  if 
you  want  things  to  be  remembered,  give  'em  effect — ' ^^Aim  high" 
Sir,'  sais  you.  Then,  like  my  old  i  ther,  fetch  him  a  kick  on  his 
western  eend,  that  will  lift  him  clean  over  the  table,  and  say,  'That's 
the  way  to  rise  in  the  world,  you  young  sucking  parson,  you.  "Aim 
high"  Sir.* 


1 


156 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


"  Neither  of  them  will  ever  forget  it  as  long  as  they  live.  The 
hit  does  that ;  for  a  kick  is  a  verj  striking  thing,  that's  a  fact. 
There  has  been  no  good  scholars  since  hirch  rods  ivent  out  o'  school, 
and  sentiment  went  in" 

"  But  you  know,"  I  said,  ""  Mr.  Slick,  that  those  high  prizes  in 
the  lottery  of  life,  can,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  drawn  but  by  a 
few  people,  and  how  many  blanks  are  there  to  one  prize  in  this 
world !" 

"  Well,  what's  to  prevent  your  boys  gettin'  those  prizes,  if  colo- 
nists was  made  Christians  of,  instead  of  outlawed,  exiled,  trans- 
ported, onsarcumsised  heathen  Tndgean  niggers,  as  they  be  ?  If 
people  don't  put  into  a  lottery,  how  the  devil  can  they  get  prizes  ? 
Will  you  tell  me  that?  Look  at  the  critters  here — lode  at  the  pub- 
licans, tailors,  barbers,  and  porters'  sons,  how  they've  rose  here,  •  in 
this  big  lake,'  to  be  chancellors,  and  archbishops  ;  how  did  they  get 
them  ?  They  *  aimed  high ;'  and  besides  all  that,  like  father's 
story  of  the  gun,  by  '  aiming  high,'  though  they  may  miss  the  mark, 
they  will  be  sure  to  hit  the  upper  circles.  Ob,  Squire,  there  is 
nothing  like  ^aiming  high,'  in  this  world." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell.  "  I  never 
heard  you  speak  so  sensibly  before.  Nothing  can  be  better  for 
young  men  than  ^Aiming  high.*  Though  they  may  not  attain  to 
the  highest  honors,  they  may,  as  you  say,  reach  to  a  most  respecta- 
ble station.  But  surely,  Squire,  you  will  never  so  far  forget  the 
respect  that  is  due  to  so  high  an  officer  as  a  Secretary  of  State,  or, 
indeed,  so  far  forget  yourself  as  to  adopt  a  course  which,  from  its 
eccentricity,  violence,  and  impropriety,  must  leave  the  impression 
that  your  intellects  are  disordered.  Surely  you  will  never  be  tempt- 
ed to  make  the  experiment  ?" 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  I  said.  "  I  have  no  desire  to  be- 
come an  inmate  of  a  lunatic  asylum." 

"  Good,"  said  he ;  "I  am  satisfied.  I  quite  agree  with  Sam, 
though.  Indeed,  I  go  further.  I  do  not  think  he  has  advised  you 
to  recommend  your  boys  to  'aim  high  enough.'  " 

"  Creation !"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  how  much  higher  do  you  want 
provincial  frogs  to  go,  than  to  be  '  Chancellor '  and  '  Primate  ?' " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Sam;  I'd  advise  them  to  'aim  higher'  than  earthly 
honors.  I  would  advise  them  to  do  their  duty,  in  any  statimi  of  life 
in  which  it  shall  please  Providence  to  place  them :  and  instead  of 
striving  after  unattainable  objects  here,  to  be  unceasing  in  their 
endeavors  to  obtain  that  which,  on  certain  conditions,  is  prmnised  to 
all  hereafter.  In  their  worldly  pursuits,  as  men,  it  is  right  for  them 
to  ^aim  high;*  but  as  Christians,  it  is  also  their  duty  to  'mm  higher.'  '* 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


167 


, '  ^' 


■ii; 


I  . 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


A    SWOI-REE, 


Mr.  Slick  visited  me  late  last  night,  dressed  as  if  he  had  been 
at  a  party,  but  very  cross,  and,  as  usual  when  in  that  frame  of  mind, 
he  vented  his  ill-humor  on  the  English. 

"  Where  have  you  been  to-night,  Mr.  Slick  ?" 

"  Jist  where  the  English  bosses  will  be,"  he  replied,  "  when  Old 
Clay  comes  here  to  this  country — no  where.  I  have  been  on  a 
stair-case,  that's  where  I  have  been ;  and  a  pretty  place  to  see  com- 
pany in,  ain't  it  ?  I  have  been  jammed  to  death  in  an  entry,  and 
what's  wus  than  all,  I  have  given  one  gall  a  black  eye  with  my 
elbow,  tore  another  one's  frock  oflF  with  my  buttons,  and  near  about 
cut  a  third  one's  leg  in  two  with  my  hat.  Pretty  well  for  one 
night's  work,  ain't  it  ?  and  for  me,  too,  that's  so  fond  of  the  dear 
little  critters,  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  their  head,  if  I  could  help 
it,  to  save  my  soul  alive.    What  a  spot  o'  work  1 

"  What  the  plague  do  people  mean  here  by  askin*  a  mob  to  their 
house,  and  invitin'  twice  as  many  as  can  get  into  it  ?  If  they  think 
it's  complimental,  they  are  infamally  mistaken,  that's  all :  it's  an 
insult,  and  nothin'  else,  makin'  a  fool  of  a  body  that  way.  Heavens 
andairth!  I  am  wringing  wet!  I'm  ready  to  faint!  Where's  the 
key  of  your  cellaret  ?  I  want  some  brandy  and  water.  I'm  dead ; 
bury  me  quick,  for  I  won't  be  nice  directly.  Oh,  dear!  how  that 
lean  gall  hurt  me !     How  horrid  sharp  her  bones  are ! 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  you'd  go  to  a  Swoi-ree  oncet.  Squire,  jist 
oncet — a  grand  let  otf,  one  uiat's  upper  crust  and  rael  jam.  It's 
worth  seein'  oncet  jist  as  a  show,  I  tell  yow,  for  you  have  no  more 
notion  of  it  than  a  child.  All  Halifax,  if  it  was  swept  up  clean  and 
shook  out  into  a  room,  wouldn't  make  one  swoi-ree.  I  have  been  to 
three  to-night,  and  all  on  'em  was  mobs — regular  mobs.  The 
English  are  horrid  fond  of  mobs,  and  I  wonder  at  it  too ;  for  of  all 
the  cowardly,  miserable,  scarry  mobs,  that  ever  was  seen  in  this 
blessed  world,  the  English  is  the  wust.  Two  dragoons  will  clear  a 
whole  street  as  quick  as  wink,  any  time.  The  instant  they  see  'em, 
they  jist  run  like  a  flock  of  sheep  afore  a  couple  of  bull  dogs,  and 
slope  off  properly  skeered.     Lawful  heart,  I  wish  they'd  send  for  a 


i 


\: 


\',  ! 


1 


168 


THB  ATTAOH^;  OB, 


dragoon,  all  booted,  and  spurred,  and  mounted,  and  let  him  gallop 
into  a  swoi-ree,  and  charge  the  mob  there.  He'd  clear  'em  out,  / 
knoyvr,  double  quick  :  he'd  chase  one  quarter  of  'em  down  stairs  head 
over  heels,  and  another  quarter  would  jump  out  o'  the  winders,  and 
break  their  confounded  necks  to  save  their  lives,  and  then  the  half 
that's  left,  would  be  jist  about  half  too  many  for  comfort. 

*'  My  first  party,  to-night,  was  a  conversation  one ;  that  is  for 
them  that  could  talk ;  as  for  me,  I  couldn't  talk  a  bit,  and  all  I  could 
think  was,  '  how  infarnal  hot  it  is !  I  wish  I  could  get  in  !*  or,  '  oh, 
dear  I  if  I  could  only  get  out !'  It  was  a  scientific  party,  a  mob  o' 
men.  Well,  everybody  expected  somebody  would  be  squashed  to 
death,  and  so  ladies  went,  for  they  always  go  to  executions.  They've 
got  a  kinder  nateral  taste  for  the  horrors,  have  women.  They  like 
to  see  people  hanged,  or  trod  to  death,  when  they  can  get  a  chance. 
It  was  a  conversation  warn't  it  ?  that's  all.  I  couldn't  understand  a 
word  I  heard.  Trap  shnle  Grey  wachy ;  a  petrified  snail,  the  most 
important  discovery  of  modern  times.  Bank  governor's  machine 
weighs  sovereigns,  light  ones  goes  to  the  right,  and  heavy  ones  to 
the  left. 

" '  Stop,'  says  I,  *  if  you  mean  the  sovereign  people  here,  there 
are  none  on  'em  light.  Right  and  left  is  both  monstrous  heavy ;  all 
over  weight,  every  one  on  'em.     I'm  squeezed  to  death.' 

"  '  Very  good,  Mr.  Slick.  Let  me  introduce  you  to——,"  they 
aie  whipt  off  in  tbfe  current,  and  I  don't  see  'em  again  no  more.  *  A 
beautiful  show  of  fiowers.  Madam,  at  the  garden  :  they  are  all  in  full 

blow  now.    The  rhododendron had  a  tooth  pulled  when  she 

was  asleep.'  *  Please  to  let  me  pass.  Sir.'  '  With  all  my  heart, 
Miss,  if  I  could ;  but  I  can't  move ;  if  I  could  I  would  down  on  the 
carpet,  and  you  should  walk  over  me.  Take  care  of  your  feet,  Miss, 
I  am  off  of  mine.  Lord  bless  me !  what's  this  ?  Why,  as  I  am  a 
livin'  sinner,  it's  half  her  frock  hitched  on  to  my  coat  button.  Now, 
I  know  what  that  scream  meant.' 

"  '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Slick?  When  did  you  come  ?'  '  Why, 
I  came — '  he  is  turned  round,  and  shoved  out  o'  hearin'.  *  Xanthian 
marbles  at  the  British  Museum  are  quite  wonderful ;  got  into  his 
throat,  the  doctor  turned  him  upside  down,  stood  him  on  his  head, 
and  out  it  came — his  own  tunnel  was  too  small.'  '  Oh,  Sir,  you  are 
cuttin'  me.'  '  Me,  Miss !  Where  had  I  the  pleasure  of  seein'  you 
before ;  I  never  cut  a  lady  in  my  life.  Couldn't  do  so  rude  a  thing. 
Havn't  the  honor  to  recollect  you.'  *  Oh,  Sir,  take  it  away,  it  cuts 
m;^.'  Poor  thing,  she  is  distracted,  I  don't  wonder  she's  drove  crazy, 
though  I  think  she  must  have  been  made  to  come  here  at  all.  '  Your 
hat.  Sir.  '  Oh,  that  cussed  French  hat  is  it  ?  Well,  the  rim  is  as 
stiff'  and  as  sharp  as  a  cleaver,  that's  a  fact,  I  don't  wonder  it  cut 
you.'  '  Eddis's  pictur — capital  painting,  fell  out  of  the  barge,  and 
was  drowned.'    '  Having  been  beat  on  the  shillin'  duty  ;  they  will 


^ 


J     II  ,llfl.lJIPP«JP 


BAM  SLIOK  IN  ENGLAND. 


159 


lim  gallop 
em  out,  / 
:airs  head 
iders,  and 
1  the  half 

at  is  for 
11 1  could 
I' or, 'oh, 
a  mob  o' 
lashed  to 
They've 
'hey  like 
I  chance, 
srstand  a 
the  most 
machine 
J  ones  to 

e,  there 
avy;  all 

-  "  they 
re.  *  A 
1  in  fuU 
len  she 
y  heart, 

on  the 
t,  Miss, 

I  am  a 
Now, 

'Why, 
a>nthian 
nto  his 
s  head, 
ou  are 
In'  you 

thing, 
it  cuts 
crazy, 
'  Your 
a  is  as 

it  cut 
e,  and 
y  will 


attack  him  on  the  fourpence,  and  thimble  rigg  him  out  of  that.' 
'  They  say  Sugden  is  in  town,  hung  in  a  bad  light,  at  the  Temple 
Church. — *  Who  is  that?'  ♦  Lady  Fobus ;  paired  off  for  the  Session ; 
Brodie  operated.' — '  Lady  Francis ;  got  the  Life  Guards ;  there 
will  be  a  division  to-night.' — *  That's  Sam  Slick  ;  I'll  introduce  you ; 
made  a  capital  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords,  in  answer  to  Brougham 
— Lobelia — voted  for  the  bill — The  Duchess  is  very  fond  of — Irish 
Arms — * 

"  Oh !  now  I'm  in  the  entry.  How  tired  I  am !  It  feels  shockin' 
cold  here,  too,  arter  comin'  out  o'  that  hot  room.  Guess  I'll  go  to 
the  grand  musical  party.  Come,  this  will  do ;  this  is  Christian-like, 
there  is  room  here ;  but  the  singin'  is  in  the  nex  room,  I  will  go  and 
hear  them.  Oh !  here  they  are  agin ;  it's  a  proper  mob  this.  Cuss 
these  English,  they  can't  live  out  of  mobs.  Prince  Albert  is  there 
in  that  room ;  I  must  go  and  see  him.  He  is  popular ;  he  is  a 
renderin*  of  himself  very  agreeable  to  the  English,  is  Prince :  he 
mixes  with  them  as  much  as  he  can  :  and  shews  his  sense  in  that. 
Church  steeples  are  very  pretty  things  :  that  one  to  Antwerp  is 
splendiriferous ;  it's  everlastin'  high,  it  most  breaks  your  neck  layin' 
back  your  head  to  look  at  it ;  bend  backward  like  a  hoop,  and  stare 
at  it  once  with  all  your  eyes,  and  you  can't  look  up  agin,  you  are 
satisfied.  It  tante  no  use  for  a  Prince  to  carry  a  head  so  high  as 
that,  Albert  knows  this;  he  don't  want  to  be  called  the  highest 
steeple,  cause  all  the  world  knows  he  is  about  the  top  loftiest ;  but 
he  wants  to  descend  to  the  world  we  live  in. 

"  With  a  Queen  all  men  love,  and  a  Prince  all  men  like,  royalty 
has  a  root  in  the  heart  here.  Pity,  too,  for  the  English  don't  desarve 
to  have  a  Queen ;  and  such  a  Queen  as  they  have  got,  too,  hang  me 
if  they  do.  They  ain't  men,  they  hante  the  feelin's  or  pride  o'  men 
in  'em ;  they  ain't  what  they  used  to  be,  the  nasty,  dirty,  mean- 
spirited,  sneakin'  skunks,  for  if  they  had  a  heart  as  big  as  a  pea — 
and  that  ain't  any  great  size,  nother— cuss  'em,  when  any  feller 
pinted  a  finger  at  her  to  hurt  her,  or  even  frighten  her,  they'd  string 
him  right  up  on  the  spot,  to  the  lamp-post.  Lynch  him  like  a  dog 
that  steals  sheep  right  off  the  reel,  and  save  mad-doctors,  skary 
judges,  and  Chartist  papers  all  the  trouble  of  findin'  excuses.  And, 
if  that  didn't  do,  Chinese  like,  they'd  take  the  whole  crowd  present 
and  sarve  them  out.  They'd  be  sure  to  catch  the  right  one  then. 
I  wouldn't  shed  blood,  because  that's  horrid ;  it  shocks  all  Christian 
people,  philosophisin'  legislators,  sentimental  ladies,  and  spooney 
gentlemen.  It's  horrid  barbarous  that,  is  sheddin'  blood  ;  I  wouldn't 
do  that,  I'd  jist  hang  him.  A  strong  cord  tied  round  his  neck  would 
keep  that  precious  mixtur,  traitor's  blood,  all  in  as  close  as  if  his 
mouth  was  corked,  wired,  and  white-leaded,  like  a  champagne 
bottle. 

"  Oh,  deal' !  these  are  the  fellers  that  come  out  a  travellin'  among 


•"^ip 


■WWP 


160 


THK  ATTACH^;  OR, 


US,  and  sayin'  the  difference  atwecn  you  and  us  is  <  the  absence  of 
loyalty.'  I've  heard  tell  a  great  deal  of  that  loyalty,  but  I've  seen 
precious  little  of  it,  since  I've  been  here,  that's  a  fact.  I've  always 
told  you  these  folks  ain't  what  they  used  to  be,  and  I  see  more  and 
more  on  'em  every  ddy.  Yes,  the  English  are  like  their  houses, 
they  are  so  fine  bred,  there  is  nothin'  lefl  of  'em  now  but  the  hide, 
hair,  and  shoes. 

"  So,  Prince  Albert  is  there  in  that  room ;  I  must  get  in  there 
and  see  him,  for  I  have  never  sot  eyes  on  him  since  I've  been  here, 
so  hei*e  goes.  Onder,  below  there,  look  out  for  your  corns,  hawl 
your  feet  in,  like  turtles,  for  I  am  a  comin'.  Take  care  o'  your 
ribs,  my  old  'coons,  for  my  elbows  are  crooked.  Who  wants  to 
grow  ?  I'll  squeeze  you  out  as  a  roUin'-pin  does  dough,  and  make 
you  ten  inches  taller.  I'll  make  good  figures  of  you,  my  fat  boys 
and  galls,  I  know.  Look  out  for  scaldin's  there.  Here  I  am :  it's 
me,  Sam  Slick,  make  way,  or  I'll  walk  right  over  you,  and  cronch 
you  like  lobsters.  '  Cheap  talkin',  or  rather  thinkin',  sais  I ;  'for 
in  course  I  couldn't  bawl  that  out  in  company  here;  they  don't 
onderstand  fun,  and  would  think  it  rude,  and  ongenteel.  I  have  to 
be  shockin'  cautious  what  I  say  here,  for  fear  I  might  lower  our 
great  nation  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners.  I  have  to  look  big  and  talk 
big  the  whole  blessed  time,  and  I  am  tired  of  it.  It  ain't  nateral 
to  me ;  and,  besides  braggin'  and  rcpudiatin'  at  the  same  time,  is 
most  as  bad  as  cantin'  and  swearin'.  It  kinder  chokes  me.  I 
thought  it  all  though,  and  sAid  it  all  to  myself.  '  And,'  sais  I, '  take 
your  time,  Sam ;  you  can't  do  it,  no  how,  you  can  fix  it.  You  must 
wait  your  time,  like  other  folks.  Your  legs  is  tied,  and  your  arms 
is  tied  down  by  the  crowd,  and  you  can't  move  an  inch  beyond  your 
nose.  The  only  way  is,  watch  your  chance,  wait  till  you  can  get 
your  hands  up,  then  turn  the  fust  two  persons  that's  next  to  you 
right  round,  and  slip  between  them  like  a  turnstile  in  the  park,  and 
work  your  passage  that  way.  Which  is  the  Prince  ?  That's  him 
with  the  hair  carefully  divided,  him  with  the  moustaches.  I've  seed 
him ;  a  plaguy  handsum  man  he  is,  too.  Let  me  out  now.  I'm 
stified,  I'm  choked.  My  jaws  stick  together,  I  can't  open  'em  no 
more ;  and  my  wind  won't  hold  out  another  minute.' 

•*  I  have  it  now,  I've  got  an  idea.  See  if  I  don't  put  the  leake 
into  'em.  Won't  I  do  them,  that's  all  ?  CJlear  the  way  there,  the 
Prince  is  a  comin',  and  so  is  the  Duke.  And  a  way  is  opened : 
waves  o'  the  sea  roll  back  at  these  words,  and  I  walks  right  out,  as 
large  as  life  and  the  fust  Egyptian  that  foUers  is  drowned,  for  the 
water  has  closed  over  him.  Sarves  him  right  too,  what  business 
had  he  to  grab  at  my  life-presarver  without  leave.  I  have  enough 
to  do  to  get  along  by  my  own  wit,  without  carryin'  double. 

" '  Where  is  the  Prince  ?  Didn't  they  say  he  was  a  comin'  ?  Who 
was  that  went  out  ?     He  don't  look  like  the  Prince ;  he  ain't  half  so 


m 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


161 


handsun,  that  feller,  he  looks  like  a  Yankee.'  *  Why,  that  was  Sam 
Slick.'  *  Capital,  that  1  What  a  droll  feller  he  is :  he  is  always  so 
ready !  He  desarves  credit  for  that  trick.'  Guess  I  do ;  but  let  old 
Connecticut  alone :  us  Slickville  boys  always  find  a  way  to  dodgo 
in  or  out,  embargo  or  no  embargo,  blockade  or  no  blockade,  we  larat 
that  last  war. 

*^IIere  I  am  in  the  street  agin;  the  air  feels  handsum.  I  have 
another  invitation  to-night,  shall  I  go?  Guess  I  will.  All  the 
world  is  at  these  two  last  places,  I  rcckin  there  will  be  breathin' 
room  at  the  next ;  and  I  want  an  ice  cream  to  cool  my  coppers, 
shockin'  bad. — Creation!  It  is  wus  than  ever;  this  party  beats 
t'other  ones  all  holler.  They  ain't  no  touch  to  it.  I'll  jist  go  and 
make  a  scrape  to  old  uncle  and  aunty,  and  then  cut  stick ;  for  I  hante 
strength  to  s wiggle  my  way  through  another  mob. 

" '  You  had  better  get  in  fust,  though,  hadn't  you,  Sam  ?  for  here 
you  are  agin  wracked,  by  gosh,  drove  right  slap  ashore  atween  them 
two  fat  women,  and  fairly  wedged  in  and  bilged.  You  can't  get 
through,  and  can't  get  out,  if  you  was  to  die  for  it.'  '  Can't  I  though  ? 
I'll  try ;  for  I  never  give  in,  till  I  can't  help  it.  So  here's  at  it. 
Heave  off,  put  all  steam  on,  and  back  out,  stam  fust,  and  then  swing 
round  into  the  stream.  That's  the  ticket,  Sam.'  It's  done ;  but  my 
elbow  has  took  that  lady  that's  two  steps  furder  down  on  the  stairs, 
just  in  the  eye,  and  knocked  in  her  dead  light.  How  she  cries  1  how 
I  apologize,  don't  I?  And  the  more  I  beg  pardon,  the  wus  she  car- 
ries on.  But  it's  no  go ;  if  I  stay,  I  must  fust  fight  somebody,  and 
then  maiTy  her;  for  I've  spiled  her  beauty,  and  that's  the  rule  here, 
they  tell  me.' 

"  So  I  sets  studen  sail  booms,  and  cracks  on  all  sail,  and  steers  for 
home,  and  here  I  am  once  more ;  at  least  what's  left  of  me,  and  that 
ain't  much  more  nor  my  shader.  Oh  dear !  I'm  tired,  shockin'  tired, 
almost  dead,  and  awful  thirsty :  for  Heaven's  sake,  give  me  some 
li"niim  vitje,  for  I  am  so  dry,  I'll  blow  away  in  dust. 

"  1  his  is  a  Swoi-ree,  Squircj  this  is  London  society :  this  is  ra- 
tional enjoyment,  this  is  a  meeting  of  friends,  who  are  so  infamal 
frien''  /  they  are  jammed  together  so  they  can't  leave  each  other. 
Inseparable  friends ;  you  must  choke  'em  off,  or  you  can't  part  'em. 
Well,  I  ain't  jist  so  thick  and  intimate  with  none  o'  them  in  this 
country  as  all  that  comes  to,  nother.  I  won't  lay  down  my  life  for 
none  on  'em;  I  '^on't  see  no  occasion  for  it,  do  youf 

"  I'll  dine  witu  you,  John  Bull,  if  you  axe  me ;  and  I  ain't  nothin' 
above  particular  to  do,  and  the  cab  hire  don't  cost  more  nor  the  price 
of  a  dinner ;  but  hang  me  if  ever  I  go  to  a  Swoi-ree  agin.  I've  had 
enough  of  that  to  last  me  my  life,  I  know.  A  dinner  I  hante  no  ob- 
jection to,  thou  ii  that  ain't  quite  so  bright  as  a  pewter  button  nother, 
when  you  don't  know  your  right  and  left  hand  man.  And  an  evenin' 
party,  I  wouldn't  take  my  oath  I  wouldn't  go  to,  though  I  don't  know 


m 


162 


THE  ATTACHE;   OB, 


hardly  what  to  talk  about,  except  America. ;  and  I've  bragged  so 
much  about  that,  I'm  tired  of  the  subject.  But  a  Swoi-ree  is  the 
devilj  that's  a/actJ* 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

TATTERSALL'S ;    OR,  THE  ELDER  AND  THE  GRAVE  DIGGER. 

"  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  it  ain't  rainin'  to-day ;  suppose  you 
come  along  with  me  to  Tattersall's.  I  have  been  studyin'  that  place 
a  considerable  sum  to  see  whether  it  is  a  safe  shop  to  trade  in  or  no. 
But  I'm  dubersome ;  I  don't  like  the  cut  of  the  sportin  folks  here. 
If  I  can  see  both  eends  of  the  rope,  and  only  one  man  has  hold  of 
one  eend,  and  me  of  the  t'other,  why  I  know  what  I  am  about ;  but 
if  I  can  only  see  my  own  eend,  I  don't  know  who  I  am  a  puUin' 
agin.  I  intend  to  take  a  rise  out  o'  some  o'  the  knowin'  ones  here, 
that  V'ill  make  'em  scratch  their  heads,  and  stare,  I  know.  But  here 
we  are.  Cut  round  this  coiner,  into  this  lane.  Here  it  is ;  this  is 
it  to  the  right." 

We  entered  a  sort  of  coach-yard,  which  was  filled  with  a  laat'ey 
and  mixed  crowd  of  people.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  in  Tatter- 
sall's. Indeed,  few  things  in  London  have  answered  my  expecta- 
tions. They  have  either  exceeded  or  fallen  short  of  the  description 
I  had  heard  of  them.  I  was  prepared,  both  from  what  I  was  told 
by  Mr.  Slick,  and  heard  from  others,  to  find  that  there  were  but  very 
few  gentlemen-like-looking  men  there ;  and  that  by  far  the  greater 
number  neither  were,  nor  affected  to  be,  anything  but  "  knowing 
ones."  I  was  led  to  believe  that  there  would  be  a  plentiful  use  of 
the  terms  of  art,  a  variety  of  provincial  accent,  and  that  the  conver- 
sation of  the  jockeys  and  grooms  would  be  liberally  garnished  with 
appropriate  slang. 

The  gentry  portion  of  the  throng,  with  some  few  exceptions,  it 
was  said,  wore  a  dissipated  look,  and  had  that  peculiar  appearance 
of  an  incipient  disc  ase,  that  indicates  a  life  of  late  hours,  of  excitv.- 
ment  and  bodily  exhaustion.  Lower  down  in  the  scale  of  iife,  I  was 
informed,  intemperance  had  left  its  indelible  marks.  And  that  still 
further  down,  were  to  be  found  the  worthless  lees  of  this  foul  and 
polluted  stream  of  sporting  gentlemen,  spendthrifts,  gamblers,  bank- 
rupts, sots,  sharpers  and  jockeys. 

This  was  by  no  means  the  case.  It  was  just  what  a  man  might 
have  expected  to  have  found  a  great  sporting  exchange  and  auction 
mart,  of  horses  and  carriages,  to  have  been,  in  a  great  city  like  Lon- 
don, had  he  been  merely  told  that  such  was  the  object  of  the  place. 


iiw/»i«:»*w!i«.i»i*> 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


163 


and  then  left  to  imagine  the  scene.  It  was,  as  I  have  before  said,  a 
mixed  and  motley  crowd ;  and  must  necessarily  be  so,  where  agents 
attend  to  bid  for  their  principals,  where  servants  are  in  waiting  upon 
their  masters,  and  above  all,  where  the  ingress  is  open  to  every  one. 

It  is,  however,  unquestionably  the  resort  of  gentlemen.  In  a  great 
and  rich  country  like  this,  there  must,  unavoidably,  be  a  Tattersall's ; 
and  the  wonder  is,  not  that  it  is  not  better,  but  that  it  is  not  infinitely 
worse.  Like  all  striking  pictures,  it  had  strong  lights  and  shades. 
Those  who  have  suffered,  are  apt  to  retaliate;  and  a  man  who  has 
been  duped,  too  often  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  make  reprisals.  Tat- 
tersall's, therefore,  is  not  vithout  its  privateers.  Many  persons  of 
rank  and  character  patronize  sporting,  from  a  patriotic  but  mistaken 
notion,  that  it  is  to  the  turf  alone  the  excellence  of  the  English  horse 
is  attributable. 

One  person  of  this  description,  whom  I  saw  there  for  a  short  time, 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  before ;  and  from  him  I  learned 
many  inters ti'-g  anecdotes  of  individuals  whom  he  pointed  out  as 
having  been  ice  well  known  about  town,  but  whose  attachment  to 
gambling  had  effected  their  ruin.  Personal  stories  of  this  kind  are, 
however,  not  within  the  scope  of  this  work. 

As  soon  as  we  entered,  Mr.  Slick  called  my  attention  to  the  car- 
riages which  were  exhibited  for  sale,  to  their  elegant  shape  and 
"  beautiful  fixins,"  as  he  termed  it ;  but  ridiculed,  in  no  measured 
terms,  their  enormous  weight.  "  It  is  no  wonder"  said  he,  "  they 
have  to  get  fresh  bosses  here  every  ten  miles,  and  travellin'  costs  so 
much,  when  the  carriage  alone  is  enough  to  kill  beasts.  What  would 
Old  Bull  say,  if  I  was  to  tell  him  of  one  pair  of  bosses  carryin'  three 
or  four  people,  forty  or  fifty  miles  a  day,  day  in  and  day  out,  hand 
runnin'  for  a  fortnight  ?  Why,  he'd  either  be  too  civil  to  tell  me  it 
was  a  lie,  or  bein'  afeerd  I'd  jump  down  his  throat  if  he  did,  he'd  sing 
dumb,  and  let  me  see  by  his  looks,  he  thought  so,  though. 

"  I  intend  to  take  the  consait  out  of  these  chaps,  and  that's  a  fact. 
If  I  don't  put  the  leake  into  *em  afore  I've  done  with  them,  ray  name 
ain't  Sam  Slick,  that's  a  fact.  I'm  studyin'  the  ins  and  the  outs  of 
this  place,  so  as  to  know  what  I  am  about,  afore  I  take  hold ;  for  I 
feel  kinder  skittish  about  my  men.  Gentlemen  are  the  lowest,  lyin- 
est,  bullyinest,  blackguards  there  is,  when  they  choose  to  be ;  'spe- 
cially if  they  have  rank  as  well  as  money.  A  thorough-brtd  cheat, 
of  good  blood,  is  a  ••-Upper,  that's  a  fact.  They  ain't  right  up-and- 
down,  like  a  cow's  tail,  in  their  dealin's ;  and  they've  got  accomplices, 
fellers  that  will  lie  for  'em  like  anything,  for  the  houoi*  of  their  com- 
pany ;  and  bettin',  onder  such  circumstances,  ain't  safe. 

*'  But  I'll  tell  you  whai  is,  if  you  have  got  a  boss  that  can  do  it, 
and  no  mistake ;  back  him,  hoss  agin  boss,  or  what's  safer  L^ill,  hoss 
agin  time,  and  you  can't  be  tricked.  Now,  I'll  send  for  Old  Clay,  to 
come  in  Canard's  steamer,  and  cuss  'em  they  ought  to  bring  over 


1  .  ij>  iii|.,iRjuj  q  If  pK«iii|Li;i«l|L.iiilli(l9asm<>^<«>'Pqq^Hpnn':!^ 


? 


164 


THE  ATTACHE  ;   OR, 


the  old  boss  and  his  fixins,  free,  for  it  was  me  first  started  that  line. 
The  way  old  Mr.  Glenelg  stared,  when  I  told  him  it  was  thirty-six 
miles  shorter  to  go  from  Bristol  to  New  York  by  the  way  of  Halifax, 
than  to  go  direct,  wam't  slow.  It  stopt  steam  for  that  hitch,  that's  a 
fact,  for  he  thort  I  was  mad.  He  sent  it  down  to  the  Admiralty  to 
get  it  ciphered  right,  and  it  took  them  old  seagulls,  the  Admirals,  a 
month  to  find  it  out. 

"  And  when  they  did,  what  did  they  say  ?  Why,  cuss  *em,  says 
they, '  any  fool  knows  that.'  Says  I, '  If  that's  the  case  you  are  jist 
the  boys  then  that  ought  to  have  found  it  out  right  off  at  oncet.* 

"  Yes,  Old  Clay  ought  to  go  free,  but  he  won't ;  and  guess  I  am 
able  to  pay  freight  for  him,  and  no  thanks  to  nobody.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what,  English  trottin'  is  about  a  mile  in  two  minutes  and  forty- 
seven  seconds,  and  that  don't  happen  oftener  than  oncet  in  fitly  years, 
if  it  was  ever  done  at  all,  for  the  English  brag  so  there  is  no  telling 
right.  Old  Clay  can  do  his  mile  in  two  minutes  and  thirty-eight 
seconds.  He  has  done  that,  and  I  guess  he  could  do  more.  I  have 
got  a  car,  that  is  as  light  as  whalebone,  and  I'll  bet  to  do  it  with 
wheels  and  drive  myself.  I'll  go  in  up  to  the  handle,  on  Old  Clay. 
I  have  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  of  hard  cash  made  in  the  colonies, 
I'll  go  half  of  it  on  the  old  boss,  hang  me  if  I  don't,  and  I'll  make 
him  as  well  knowd  to  England  as  he  is  to  Nova  Scotia. 

"  I'll  allow  him  to  be  beat  at  fust,  so  as  to  lead  'em  on,  and  Clay  is 
as  cunnin'  as  a  coon  too,  if  he  don't  get  the  word  g'lang  (go  along) 
and  the  Indgian  skelpin'  yell  with  it,  he  knows  I  ain't  in  airnest,  and 
he'll  allow  me  to  beat  him  and  bully  him  like  nothin'.  He'll  pretend 
to  do  his  best,  and  sputter  away  like  a  hen  scratchin'  gravel,  but  he 
won't  go  one  mossel  faster,  for  he  knows  I  never  lick  a  free  boss. 

"  Won't  it  be  beautiful  ?  How  they'll  all  larf  and  crow,  when 
they  see  me  a  thrashin'  away  at  the  boss,  and  then  him  goin'  slower, 
the  faster  I  thrash,  and  me  a  threatenin'  to  shoot  the  brute,  and  a 
talkin'  at  the  tip  eend  of  my  tongue  like  a  ravin'  distracted  bed  bug, 
and  offerin'  to  back  him  agin,  if  they  dare,  and  planken  down  the 
pewter  all  round,  takin'  every  one  up  that  will  go  the  figur',  till  1 
raise  the  bets  to  the  tune  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  When  I  get 
that  far,  they  may  stop  their  larfin'  till  next  time,  I  guess.  That's 
the  turn  of  the  fever — that's  the  crisis — that's  my  time  to  larf  then. 

"  I'll  mount  the  car  then,  take  the  bits  of  list  up,  put  'em  into  right 
Hhape,  talk  a  little  Connecticut  Yankee  to  the  old  boss,  to  set  bis 
ebernezer  up,  and  make  him  rise  inwardly,  and  then  give  the  yell," 
(which  he  uttered  in  his  excitement  in  earnest ;  and  a  most  diaboli- 
cal one  it  was.  It  pierced  me  through  and  through,  and  curdled  my 
very  blood,  it  was  the  death  shout  of  a  savage.)  "  G'lang  you 
skunk,  and  turn  out  your  toes  pretty,"  said  he,  and  be  again  repeated 
this  long-protracted,  shrill,  infernal  yel       second  time. 

Every  eye  was  instantly  turned  upon  us.    Even  Tattersall  sua- 


■HJ 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


165 


pended  his  "  he  is  five  years  old — a  good  hack — and  is  to  be  sold," 
to  give  time  for  the  general  exclamation  of  surprise.  "  Who  the 
uevll  ia  that  ?  Is  he  mad  ?  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  Does  any- 
body know  him  ?  He  is  a  devilish  keen-lookin'  fellow  that ;  what  an 
eye  he  has  I     He  looks  like  a  Yankee,  that  fellow." 

"  He's  been  here,  your  honor,  several  days,  examines  everything 
and  says  nothing;  looks  like  a  knowing  one,  your  honor.  He 
handles  a  boss  as  if  he'd  seen  one  afore  to-day,  Sir." 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman  with  him  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  your  honor,  never  saw  him  before  ;  he  looks  like  a 
furriner,  too." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  I,  "  we  are  attracting  too  much  attention 
here,  let  us  go." 

"  Cuss  'em,"  said  he,  "I'll  attract  more  attention  afore  I've  done 
yet,  when  Old  Clay  comes,  and  then  I'll  tell  'em  who  I  am — Sam 
Slick,  from  Slickville,  Onion  County,  State  of  Connecticut,  United 
States  of  America.  But  I  do  suppose  we  had  :^  good  make  tracks, 
for  I  don't  want  folks  to  know  me  yet.  I'm  plaguy  sorry  I  let  out 
that  countersign  of  Old  Clay  too,  but  they  won't  onderstand  it. 
Critters  like  the  English,  that  know  everything,  have  generally  weak 
eyes,  from  studyin'  so  hard. 

"  Did  you  take  notice  of  that  critter  I  was  a  handlin*  of.  Squire  ? 
that  one  that's  all  drawed  up  in  the  middle  like  a  devil's  damin' 
needle ;  her  hair  a  standin'  upon  eend  as  if  she  was  amazed  at  her- 
self, and  a  look  out  of  her  eye,  as  if  she  thort  the  dogs  would  find 
the  steak  kinder  tough,  when  they  got  her  for  dinner.  Well,  that's 
a  great  mare  that  'are,  and  there  ain't  nothin'  onder  the  sun  the 
matter  of  her,  except  the  groom  has  stole  her  oats,  forgot  to  give 
her  water,  and  let  her  n?ake  a  supper  sometimes  off  of  her  nasty, 
mouldy,  filthy  beddin'.  I  hante  seed  a  boss  here  equal  to  her  a'most 
— short  back,  beautiful  rake  to  the  shoulder,  great  depth  of  chest, 
elegant  quarter^  great  stifle,  amazin'  strong  arm,  monstrous  nice  nos- 
trils, eyes  like  a  weasel,  all  outside,  game  ears,  first  chop  bone,  and 
fine  fat  leg,  with  no  gum  on  no  part  of  it.  She's  a  sneezer,  that ; 
but  she'll  be  knocked  down  for  twenty  or  thirty  pound,  because  she 
looks  as  if  she  was  used  up. 

"  I  intended  to  a  had  that  mare,  for  I'd  a  made  her  worth  twelve 
hundred  doHars.  It  was  a  dreadful  pity,  I  let  go,  that  time,  for  I 
actilly  forgot  where  I  was.  I'll  know  better  next  hitch,  for  bouglitcn 
wit  is  the  best  in  a  general  way-  Yes,  I'm  peskily  sorry  about  that 
mare.  Well,  swappin'  I've  studied,  but  I  doubt  if  it's  as  much  the 
fashion  here  as  with  us ;  and  besides,  swappin'  where  you  don't 
know  the  country  and  its  tricks  (for  every  country  has  its  own 
tricks,  different  from  others),  is  dangersome  too.  I've  seen  swaps 
where  both  sides  ;40t  took  in.  Did  ever  I  tell  you  the  stcry  of  tbe 
*  Elder  and  the  giuve-digger  ?' " 


166 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


"  Never,"  I  replied ;  "  but  here  we  are  at  our  lodgings.  Come 
in,  and  tell  it  to  me." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  must  have  a  glass  of  mint  julep  fust,  to 
wash  down  that  ere  disappointment  about  the  mare.  It  was  a  dread> 
ful  go,  that.  I  jist  lost  a  thousand  dollars  by  it,  as  slick  as  grease. 
But  it's  an  excitin'  thing,  is  a  trottin'  race,  too.  When  you  mount, 
hear  the  word,  *  Start !'  and  shout  out  '  G'lang !'  and  give  the  pass 
word.'*  Good  heavens  !  what  a  yell  he  perpetrated  again.  I  put 
both  hands  to  my  ears,  to  exclude  the  reverberations  of  it  from  the 
walls. 

"  Don't  be  skeered.  Squire ;  don't  be  skeered.  "We  are  alone 
now  ;  there  is  no  mare  to  lose.  Ain't  it  pretty  ?  It  makes  me  feel 
all  dandery  and  on  wires  like." 

"  But  the  grave-digger  ?"  said  I. 

"  Well,'*  says  he,  "  the  year  afore  I  knowed  you,  I  was  a-goin'  in 
the  fall,  down  to  Clare,  about  sixty  miles  below  Annapolis,  to  collect 
some  debts  due  to  me  there  from  the  French.  And  as  I  was  a-jog- 
gin'  on  along  the  load,  who  should  I  overtake  but  Elder  Stephen 
Grab,  of  Beechmeadows,  a  mounted  on  a  considerable  of  a  clever- 
lookin'  black  mare.  The  Eldei  was  a  pious  man ;  at  least  he  looked 
like  one,  and  spoke  like  one,  too.  His  face  was  as  long  as  the  moral 
law,  and  p'rhaps  an  inch  longer,  and  as  smooth  as  a  hone  ;  and  his 
voice  was  so  soft  and  sweet,  and  his  tongue  moved  so  ily  on  its 
hinges,  you'd  a  thought  you  might  a  trusted  him  with  ontold  gold, 
if  you  didn't  care  whether  you  ever  got  it  agin  or  no.  He  had  a 
bran  new  hat  on,  with  a  brim  that  was  none  of  the  smallest,  to  keep 
the  sun  from  makin'  his  inner  man  wink,  and  his  go-to-meetiu' 
clothes  on,  and  a  pair  of  silver  mounted  spurs,  and  a  beautifil 
white  cravat,  tied  behind,  so  as  to  have  no  bows  to  it,  and  look 
meek.  If  there  was  a  good  man  on  airth,  you'd  a  said  it  was  him. 
And  he  seemed  to  feel  it,  and  know  it  too,  for  there  was  a  kind  of 
look  o'  triumph  about  him,  as  if  he  had  conquered  the  Evil  One, 
and  was  considerable  well  satisfied  with  himself. 

" '  H'are  you,'  sais  I,  '  Elder,  to-day  ?  Which  way  are  you 
from  ?' 

'  ■  *  From  the  General  Christian  Assembly,*  sais  he,  *  to  Gooso 
Creek.  We  had  "  a  most  refreshing  time  on't."  There  was  a  great 
"  otUpounri  of  tJie  Spirit." ' 

" '  Well,  that's  awful,'  sais  I,  *  too.  The  magistrates  ought  to 
see  to  that ;  it  ain't  right,  when  folks  assemble  that  way  to  wor- 
ship, to  be  a  sellin'  of  rum,  and  gin,  and  brandy,  and  spirits, 
is  it  ?' 

"  *  I  don't  mean  that,*  sais  he,  *  although,  p*rhaps,  there  was  too 
much  of  that  wicked  traffic,  too.  I  mean  the  preachin*.  It  was 
very  peeowerful ;  there  was  "  man^  sinners  saved,"  ' 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


167 


"  *  I  guess  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  it,'  sais  I,  *  onless  that 
neighborhood  has  much  improved  since  1  knowed  it  last.' 

"  *  It's  a  sweet  thing/  sais  he.  '  Have  you  ever  "  made  profes- 
sion," Mr.  Slick  ?' 

"  *  Come,*  sais  I  to  myself,  '  tb's  is  cuttin'  it  rather  too  fat.  I 
must  put  a  stop  to  this.  This  rin't  a  subject  for  conversation  with 
such  a  cheatin',  cantin',  hyppo^ritical  skunk  as  this  is.  Yes,*  sais  I, 
'  long  ago.  My  profession  is  that  of  a  clockmaker,  and  I  make  no 
pretension  to  nothin'  else.  But  come,  let's  water  our  bosses  here, 
and  liquor  ourselves.' 

"  And  we  dismounted,  and  gave  'em  a  drop  to  wet  their  mouths. 

" '  Now,'  sais  I,  a  takin'  out  of  a  pocket-pistol  that  I  generally 
travelled  with,  '  I  think  I'll  take  a  drop  of  grog ;'  and  arter  helpin' 
myself,  I  gives  the  silver  cover  of  the  flask  a  dip  in  the  brook  (for 
a  clean  rinse  is  better  than  a  dirty  wipe,  any  time),  and  sais  I,  'Will 
you  have  a  little  of  the  "  outpourin'  of  the  Spirit  ?"  What  do  you 
say,  Elder  ?' 

" '  Thank  you,'  sais  he,  *  friend  Slick.  I  never  touch  liquor — it's 
agin  our  rules.' 

"  And  he  stooped  down  and  filled  it  with  water,  and  took  a  mouth- 
ful, and  then  makin'  a  face  like  a  frog  afore  he  goes  to  sing,  and 
swellin'  his  cheeks  out  like  a  Scotch  bagpiper,  he  spit  it  all  out. 
Sais  he,  *  That  is  so  warm,  it  makes  me  sick ;  and  as  I  ain't  otherwise 
well,  from  the  celestial  exhaustion  of  a  protracted  meetin',  I  believe 
I  will  take  a  little  drop,  as  medicine.' 

"  Confound  him  !  if  he'd  a  said  he'd  only  leave  a  little  drop,  it 
would  a  been  more  like  the  thing ;  for  he  e'en  a'most  emptied  the 
whole  into  the  cup,  and  drank  it  off  clean,  without  winkin'. 

" '  It's  a  " very  refreshivH  time"  says  I,  '  ain't  it  ?'  But  he 
didn't  make  no  answer.  Sais  I,  '  That's  a  likely  beast  of  yourn, 
Elder,'  and  I  opened  her  mouth,  and  took  a  look  at  her,  and  no  easy 
matter  nother,  I  tell  you,  for  she  held  on  like  a  bear  trap,  with  her 
jaws. 

"  '  She  won't  suit  you,'  sais  he,  with  a  smile,  '  Mr.  Slick.* 

"  *  I  guess  not,'  sais  I. 

"  '  Bur,  she'll  jist  suit  the  French,'  sais  he.  , 

"  *  It's  lucky  she  don't  speak  French,  then,'  sais  I,  *  or  they'd 
soon  find  her  tongue  was  too  big  for  her  mouth.  That  critter  will 
never  see  five-and-twenty,  and  I'm  a  thinkin'  she's  thirty  year  old, 
if  she  is  a  day.' 

"  *  I  was  a  thinkin' ',  said  he,  with  a  sly  look  out  o'  the  comer  of 
his  eye,  as  if  her  age  warn't  no  secret  to  him,  '  I  was  a  thinkin'  it's 
time  to  put  her  off,  and  she'll  jist  suit  the  French.  They  hante 
much  for  bosses  to  do,  in  a  giniral  way,  but  to  ride  about ;  and 
you  won't  say  nothin'  about  her  age,  will  you  ?  it  might  endamnify 
a  sale.' 


168 


THE  ATTACH^:;   OR, 


"  *  Not  I,*  sais  I.  '  I  skin  my  own  foxes,  and  let  other  folks  skin 
their'n.  I  have  enough  to  do  to  mind  my  own  business,  without  in- 
terferin'  with  other  people's.' 

"  '  She'll  jist  suit  the  French,'  sais  he  ;  '  they  don't  know  nothin* 
about  hosses,  or  anything  else.  They  are  a  simple  people,  and  al- 
ways will  be,  for  their  priests  keep  *em  in  ignorance.  It's  an  awful 
thing  to  see  them  kept  in  the  outer  porch  of  darkness  that  way, 
ain't  it  ?' 

"  '  I  guess  you'll  put  a-  new  pane  o*  glass  in  tiieir  porch,'  says  I, 
*  and  help  some  o'  them  to  see  better ;  lor  whoever  gets  that  mare, 
will  have  his  eyes  open,  sooner  nor  he  bargains  for,  I  know.' 

''  Sais  he,  '  She  ain't  a  bad  mare ;  and  if  she  could  eat  hay, 
might  do  a  good  deal  of  work  yet,'  and  he  gave  a  kind  of  chuckle 
laugh  at  his  own  joke,  that  sounded  like  the  rattles  in  his  throat,  it 
was  so  dismal  and  deep,  for  he  was  one  o'  them  kind  of  fellers  that's 
too  good  to  larf,  was  Steve. 

"  Well,  the  horn  o'  grog  he  took  began  to  onloosen  his  tongue ; 
and  I  got  out  of  him,  that  she  came  near  dyin'  the  winter  afore, 
her  teeth  was  so  bad,  and  that  he  had  kept  her  all  summer  in  a 
dyke  pasture  up  to  her  fetlocks  in  white  clover,  and  ginn'  her 
ground  oats,  and  Indgian  meal,  and  nothin'  to  do  all  summer ;  and 
in  the  fore  part  of  the  fall,  biled  potatoes,  and  he'd  got  her  as  fat 
as  a  seal,  and  her  skin  as  slick  as  an  otter's.  She  fairly  shined 
agin,  in  the  sun. 

"  *  She'll  jist  suit  the  French,*  sais  he;  *they  are  a  simple  people, 
and  don't  know  nothin',  and  if  they  don't  like  the  mare,  they  must 
blame  their  priests  for  not  teachin'  'em  better.  I  shall  keep  within 
the  strict  line  of  truth,  as  becomes  a  Christian  man.  I  scorn  to  take 
a  man  in.' 

"  Well,  we  chatted  away  arter  this  fashion,  he  a  openin'  of  him- 
self and  me  a  walkin'  into  him  ;  and  we  jogged  along  till  we  came 
to  Charles  Tarrio's  to  Montagnon,  and  there  was  the  matter  of  a 
thousand  French  people  gathered  there,  a  chatterin',  and  laughin', 
and  jawin',  and  quarrellin',  and  racin',  and  wrastlin*,  and  all  a  givin* 
tongue,  like  a  pack  of  village  dogs,  when  an  Indgian  comes  to  town. 
It  was  a  town  meetin'  day. 

"  Well,  there  was  a  critter  there,  called,  by  nickname,  '  Goodish 
Greevoy,'  a  mounted  on  a  white  pony,  one  o*  the  scariest  little 
screamers  you  ever  see  since  you  was  born.  He  was  a  tryin'  to  get 
up  a  race,  was  Goodish,  and  banterin'  every  one  that  had  a  boss  to 
run  with  him. 

"  His  face  was  a  fortin'  to  a  painter.  His  forehead  was  high  and 
narrer,  showin'  only  a  long  strip  o'  tawny  skin,  in  a  line  with  his 
nose,  the  rest  bein'  covered  with  hair,  as  black  as  ink,  and  as  iley  as 
a  seal's  name.  His  brows  was  thick,  bushy,  and  overhangin',  like 
young  brushwood  on  a  cliff,  and  onderneath  was  two  black  peerin, 


•VllfKV'VP'  "■ 


■mim.ijp^jfwn^nwijii 


^am 


w^'m'mmmi 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


169 


P  folks  skin 
without  in- 

low  nothin' 

^le,  and  al- 

'a  an  awful 

that  way, 

K  says  I, 

that  mare, 

w.' 

I  eat  hay, 

of  chuckle 

I  throat,  it 

tiers  that's 

is  tongue  J 
iter  afore, 
imer  in  a 
ginn'  her 
mer;  and 
her  as  fat 
ly  shined 

e  people, 
hey  must 
sp  within 
n  to  take 

of  him- 
we  came 
ter  of  a 
aughin', 
a  givin* 
to  town. 

Goodish 

st  little 

I*  to  get 

hoss  to 

igh  and 

i^ith  his 

iley  as 

>n',  like 

peerin, 


little  eyes,  that  kept  a  movin'  about,  keen,  good-natured,  and 
roguish,  but  sot  far  into  his  skull,  and  looked  like  the  eyes  of  a  fox 
peepin*  out  of  his  den,  when  he  warn't  to  home  to  company  hisself. 
His  nose  was  high,  sharp,  and  crooked,  like  the  back  of  a  reapin' 
hook,  and  gave  a  plaguy  sight  of  character  to  his  face,  while  his 
thinnish  lips,  that  closed  on  a  straight  line,  curlin'  up  at  one  eend, 
and  down  at  the  other,  showed,  if  his  dander  was  raised,  he  could 
be  a  jumpin',  tarin',  rampagenous  devil,  if  he  chose.  The  pint  of 
his  chin  projected  and  turned  up  gently,  as  if  it  expected,  when 
Goodish  lost  his  teeth,  to  rise  in  the  world  in  rank  next  to  the  nose. 
When  good  natur*  sat  on  the  box,  and  drove,  it  warn't  a  bad  face  ; 
when  Old  Nick  was  Coachman,  I  guess  it  would  be  as  well  to  give 
Master  Frenchman  the  road. 

"  He  had  a  red  cap  on  his  head,  his  beard  hadn't  been  cut  since 
last  sheep  shearin',  and  he  looked  as  hairy  as  a  tarrier ;  his  shirt 
collar,  which  was  of  yaller  flannel,  fell  on  his  shoulders  loose,  and 
a  black  handkerchcr  was  tied  round  his  neck,  slack  like  a  sailor's. 
He  wore  a  round  jacket  and  loose  trowsers  of  homespun,  with  no 
waistcoat,  and  his  trowsers  was  held  up  by  a  gallus  of  leather  on 
one  side,  and  of  old  cord  on  the  other.  Either  Goodish  had  growed 
since  his  clothes  was  made,  or  his  jacket  and  trowsers  warn't  on 
speakin'  tarms,  for  they  didn't  meet  by  three  or  four  inches,  and  the 
shirt  showed  atween  them  like  a  yaller  militia  sash  round  him.  His 
feet  was  covered  with  moccasins  of  ontanned  moose  hide,  and  one 
heel  was  sot  off  with  an  old  spur,  and  looked  sly  and  wicked.  He 
was  a  sneezer  that,  and  when  he  flourished  his  great  long  withe  of  a 
whip  stick,  that  looked  like  a  fishin'  rod,  over  his  head,  and  yelled 
like  all  possessed,  he  was  a  caution,  that's  a  fact. 

"  A  knowin*  lookin  little  hoss  it  was,  too,  that  he  was  mounted 
on.  Its  tail  was  cut  close  off  to  the  stump,  which  squared  up  his 
rump,  and  made  him  look  awful  strong  in  the  hind  quarters.  His 
mane  was  '  hogged,'  which  fulled  out  the  swell  and  crest  o£  the 
neck ;  and  his  eax's  being  cropped,  the  critter  had  a  gam  e  look 
about  him.  There  was  a  proper  good  onderstandin'  between 
him  and  his  rider :  they  looked  as  if  they  had  growed  together, 
and  made  one  critter — half  hoss,  half  man,  with  a  touch  of  the 
devil. 

"  Goodish  was  all  up  on  eend  by  what  he  drank,  and  dashed  in 
and  out  of  the  crowd  arter  a  fasliion,  that  was  quite  cautionary, 
callin'  out,  "■  Here  comes  '*  the  grave-digger."  Don't  be  skeered, 
if  any  of  you  get  killed,  here  is  the  hoss  that  will  dig  his  grave  for 
nothin'.  Who'll  run  a  lick  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  for  a  pint  of  rum? 
Will  f/ou  run  ?'  said  he,  a  spunkin'  up  to  the  Elder.  '  Come,  let's 
run,  and  whoever  wins,  shall  go  tlie  treat.' 

"  The  Elder  smiled  as  sweet  as  sugar-candy,  but  backed  out ;  he 
was  too  old|  he  said,  now  to  run. 

8 


170 


THE   AITAOHK;   OR, 


^it 


"  '  Will  you  swap  bosses,  old  broadcloth,  then  ?'  said  the  othei. 
*  Because  if  you  will,  here's  at  you.* 

"  Steve  took  a  squint  at  pony,  to  see  whether  that  cat  would  jump 
or  no,  but  the  crept  ears,  the  stump  of  a  tail,  the  rakish  look  of  the 
boi'se,  didn't  jist  altogether  convene  to  the  taste  or  the  sanctiiied  hab- 
its of  the  preacher.  The  word  no,  hung  on  his  lips,  like  a  wormy 
apple,  jist  reacb' to  drop  the  fust  shake;  but  before  it  let  go,  the 
great  strength,  the  spryness,  and  the  oncommon  obedience  of  pony 
to  the  bit,  seemed  to  kinder  balance  the  objections ;  while  the  sartan 
and  ontimely  eend  that  hung  over  his  own  mare,  during  the  comin* 
winter,  death  by  starvation,  turned  the  scale. 

"  '  Well,'  said  he,  slowly,  '  if  we  like  each  other's  beasts,  friend, 
and  can  agree  as  to  the  boot,  I  don't  know  as  I  wouldn't  trade ;  for 
I  don't  care  to  raise  colts,  bavin'  plenty  of  boss  stock  on  hand,  and 
perhaps  you  do.' 

"  '  How  old  is  your  boss  ?'  said  the  Frenchman. 

" '  I  didn't  raise  it,'  sais  Steve.  '  Ned  Wheelock,  I  believe, 
brought  her  to  our  parts.' 

"  '  How  old  d|0  you  take  her  to  be  ?' 

"  '  Poor  critter,  she'd  tell  you  herself,  if  she  could,'  said  he,  '  for 
she. knows  best,  but  she  can't  speak ;  and  I  didn't  see  her,  when  she 
was  foalded.' 

"  '  How  old  do  you  think  ?* 


(( ( 


Age,'  sais  Steve,  '  depends  on  use,  not  on  years.  A  boss  at 
five,  if  ill-used,  is  old  ;  a  boss  at  eight,  if  well  used,  is  young.' 

"  '  Sacry  footry  !'  sais  Goodish,  '  why  don't  you  speak  out  like  a 
man  ?     Lie  or  no  lie,  how  old  is  she  ?' 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  like  to  say,'  sais  Steve.  '  I  know  she  is  eight  for 
sartain,  and  it  may  be  she's  nine.  If  I  was  to  say  eight,  and  it  turned 
out  nine,  you  might  be  thinkin'  hard  of  me.  I  didn't  raise  it.  You 
can  see  what  condition  she  is  in ;  old  bosses  ain't  commonly  so  fat  as 
that,  at  least  I  never  see  one  that  was.' 

"  A  long  banter  then  growed  out  of  the  '  boot  money.*  The 
Elder  at^ked  £7  10s.  Goodish  swore  he  wouldn't  give  that  for  him 
and  his  boss  together  ;  that  if  they  were  both  put  up  to  auction  that 
blessed  minute,  they  wouldn't  bring  it.  The  Elder  hung  on  to  it, 
as  long  as  there  was  any  chance  of  the  boot,  and  then  fort  the  ground 
like  a  man,  only  givin'  an  inch  or  so  at  a  time,  till  he  drawed  up 
and  made  a  dead  stand,  on  one  pound. 

"  Goodish  seemed  willing  to  come"  to  tarms,  too  ;  but,  like  a  pru- 
dent man,  resolved  to  take  a  look  at  the  old  mare's  mouth,  and  make 
gome  kind  of  a  guess  at  her  age ;  but  the  critter  knowed  how  to 
keep  her  own  secrets,  and  it  was  ever  so  long  afore  he  forced  her 
jaws  open,  and  when  he  did,  he  came  plagjy  near  losin'  of  a  finger, 
for  his  curiosity  ;  and  as  he  hopped  and  danced  about  with  pain,  he 
let  fly  such  a  string  of  oaths,  and  sacry-cussed  the  Elder  and  his 


BAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


171 


mare,  in  such  an  all-fired  passion,  that  Steve  put  both  his  hands  up 
to  his  ears,  and  said,  *  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  don't  swear ;  it's  very 
wicked.  I'll  take  your  pony — I'll  ask  no  boot,  if  you  will  only 
promise  not  to  swear.  You  shall  have  the  mare  as  she  stands.  I'll 
give  up  and  swap  even ;  and  there  shall  be  no  after  claps,  nor  rueia 
bargains,  nor  recantin',  nor  nothin',  only  don't  swear.' 

''  Well,  the  trade  was  made,  the  saddles  and  bridles  was  shifted, 
and  both  parties  mounted  their  new  bosses.  'Mr.  Slick,'  sais  Steve, 
who  was  afraid  he  would  lose  the  pony,  if  he  staid  any  longer,  '  Mr. 
Slick,'  sais  he,  '  the  least  said  is  the  soonest  mended — let's  be  a 
movin' ;  this  scene  of  noise  and  riot  is  shockin'  to  a  religious  man, 
am't  it  ?'  and  he  let  go  a  groan,  as  long  as  the  embargo  a'most. 

"  Well,  he  had  no  sooner  turned  to  go,  than  the  French  people 
set  up  a  cheer  that  made  all  ring  again ;  and  they  sung  out  '  La 
Fossy  Your !'  '  La  Fossy  Your !'  and  shouted  it  agin  and  agin,  ever 
so  loud. 

«  '  What's  that  ?'  sais  Steve. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know,  for  I  never  heerd  the  word  afore ;  but 
it  don't  do  to  say  you  don't  know,  it  lowers  you  in  the  eyes  of  other 
folks.  If  you  don't  know  what  another  man  knows,  he  is  shocked 
at  your  ignorance.  But  if  he  don't  know  what  you  do,  he  can  find 
an  excuse  in  a  minute.    Never  say  you  don't  know. 

" '  So,*  sais  I,  '  they  jabber  so  everlastin'  fast,  it  ain't  no  easy 
matter  to  say  what  they  mean;  but  it  sounds  like  "  good  bye,"  you'd 
better  turn  round  and  make  'em  a  bow,  for  they  are  very  polite 
people,  is  the  French.' 

"  So  Steve  turns  and  takes  off  his  hat,  and  makes  them  a  low  bow, 
and  they  la;  r's  wus  than  ever,  and  calls  out  again, '  La  Fossy  Your,* 
*  La  Fossy  Your.*  He  was  kinder  ryled,  was  the  Elder.  His  honey 
had  begun  to  farment,  and  smell  vinegery.  '  May  be,  next  Christ- 
mas,' sais  he,  *  you  won't  larf  so  loud,  when  you  find  the  mare  is 
dead.  Goodish  and  the  old  mare  are  jist  alike,  they  are  all  tongue, 
them  critters.  I  rather  think  it's  me,'  sais  he, '  has  the  right  to  larf, 
for  I've  got  the  best  of  this  bargain,  and  no  mistake.  This  is  as 
smart  a  little  boss  as  ever  I  see.  I  know  where  I  can  put  him  off 
to  great  advantage.  I  shall  make  a  good  day's  work  of  this.  It  is 
about  as  good  a  boss  trade  as  I  ever  made.  The  French  don't 
know  nothin'  about  bosses ;  they  are  a  simple  people,  their  priests 
keep  'em  in  ignorance  on  purpose,  and  they  don't  know  nothin'.' 

"  He  cracked  and  bragged  considerable,  and  as  we  progressed  we 
came  lo  Montagon  Bridge.  The  moment  pony  sot  foot  on  it,  he 
stopped  short,  pricked  up  the  latter  eends  of  his  ears,  snorted, 
squeeled  and  refused  to  budge  an  inch.  The  Elder  got  mad.  He 
first  coaxed  and  patted,  and  soft  sawdered  him,  and  then  whipt  and 
spurred,  and  thrashed  him  like  anything.  Pony  got  mad,  too,  for 
bosses  has  tempers  as  well  as  Elders ;  so  he  turned  to,  and  kicked 


h 


f 


172 


THE  ATTACH^:;   OR, 


right  straight  up  on  eend,  like  Old  Scratch,  and  kept  on  without 
stoppin'  till  he  sent  the  Elder  right  slap  over  his  head  slanterdicu- 
larly,  on  the  broad  of  his  back  into  the  river,  and  he  floated  down 
thro'  the  bridge  and  scrambled  out  at  t'  other  side. 

"  Creation !  how  he  looked.  He  was  so  mad,  he  was  ready  to  bile 
over;  and,  as  it  was,  he  smoked  in  the  sun,  like  a  tea-kettle.  His 
clothes  stuck  close  down  to  him,  as  a  cat's  fur  does  to  her  skin, 
when  she's  out  in  the  rain,  and  every  step  he  took  his  boots  went 
squish,  squash,  like  an  old  woman  churnin'  butter ;  and  his  wet 
trowsers  chafed  with  a  noise  like  a  wet  flappin'  sail.  He  was  a 
show,  and  when  he  got  up  to  his  boss,  and  held  on  to  his  mane,  and 
first  lifted  up  one  leg  and  then  the  other  to  let  the  water  run  out  of 
his  boots,  I  couldn't  hold  in  no  longer,  but  laid  back  and  lai*fed  till  I 
thought  on  my  soul  I'd  fall  off  into  the  river,  too. 

"  '  Elder,*  says  I, '  I  thought  when  a  man  jined  your  sect,  he  could 
never  "/a//  off  agin,'*  but  I  see  you  ain't  no  safer  than  other  folks 
arter  all.' 

"  '  Come,'  says  he,  '  let  me  be,  that's  a  good  soul ;  it's  bad  enough 
without  being  larfed  at,  that's  a  fact.  I  can't  account  for  this  caper, 
no  how.  It's  very  strange,  too,  ain't  it  ?  What  on  airth  got  into 
the  boss  to  make  him  act  so  ugly.     Can  you  tell,  Mr.  Slick  ?' 

"  '  Why,'  sais  I,  *  he  don't  know  English  yet,  that's  all.  He  waited 
for  them  beautiful  French  oaths  that  Goodish  used.  Stop  the  fust 
Frenchman  you  meet,  and  give  him  a  shillin'  to  teach  you  to  swear, 
and  he'll  go  like  a  lamb.' 

"  I  see'd  what  was  the  matter  of  the  boss  by  his  action  as  soon  as 
we  started ;  but  I  warn't  a  goin'  for  to  let  on  to  him  about  it.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  sport.  Well,  he  took  his  boss  by  the  bridle  and 
led  him  over  the  bridge,  and  he  foUered  kindly,  then  he  mounted, 
and  no  boss  could  go  better.  Arter  a  little,  we  came  to  another 
bridge  agin,  and  the  same  play  was  acted  anew,  same  coaxin',  same 
threatenin',  and  same  thrashin' ;  at  last,  pony  put  down  his  head, 
and  began  to  shake  his  tail,  a  gettin'  ready  for  another  bout  of 
kickin' ;  when  Steve  got  off  and  led  him,  and  did  the  same  to  every 
bridge  we  come  to. 

"  "  It's  no  use,'  sais  I, '  you  must  larn  them  oaths,  he's  used  to  *em 
and  misses  them  shocking.  A  sailor,  a  boss,  and  a  nigger  ain't  no 
good  without  you  swear  at  'em ;  it  comes  kinder  nateral  to  them, 
and  they  look  for  it,  fact  I  assure  you.  Whips  wear  out,  and  so  do 
spurs,  but  a  good  sneezer  of  a  cuss  hain't  no  wear  out  to  it ;  it's 
always  the  same.' 

"  I'll  larn  him  sunthin',  sais  he,  '  when  I  get  him  to  home,  and 
out  o'  sight,  that  will  do  him  good  and  that  he  won't  forget  for  one 
while,  I  know.' 

"  Soon  arter  this,  we  came  to  Everett's  public-house  on  the  bay, 
and  I  galloped  up  to  the  door,  and  went  as  close  as  I  cleverly  could 


BAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


178 


on  purpose,  and  then  reined  up  short  and  sudden,  when  whap  goes 
the  pony  right  agin  the  side  of  the  house,  and  nearly  killed  himself. 
He  never  stirred  for  the  matter  of  two  or  three  minutes.  I  actilly 
did  think  he  had  gone  for  it,  and  Steve  went  right  thro'  the  winder 
on  to  the  floor,  with  a  holler  noise,  like  a  log  o'  wood  thrown  on  to 
the  deck  of  a  vessel.  '  Eugh !'  says  he,  and  he  cut  himself  with  the 
broken  glass  quite  ridikilous. 

"  '  Why,*  sais  Everett, '  as  I  am  a  livin'  sinner  this  is  "  the  Grave- 
digger,"  he'll  kill  you,  man,  as  sure  as  you  are  born,  he  is  the  wick- 
edest boss  that  ever  was  seen  in  these  clearin's  here ;  and  he  is  as 
blind  as  a  bat,  too.  No  man  in  Nova  Scotia  can  manage  that  boss 
but  Goodish  Greevoy,  and  he'd  manage  the  devil  that  feller,  for  he 
is  man,  horse,  shark,  and  sarpent  all  in  one,  that  Frenchman. 
What  possessed  you  to  buy  such  a  varmint  as  that  ?' 

"  '  Grave-digger !'  said  doleful  Steve, '  what  is  that  ?'    • 

" '  Why,'  sais  he,  '  they  went  one  day  to  bury  a  man,  down  to 
Clare  did  the  French,  and  when  they  got  to  the  grave,  who  should 
be  in  it,  but  the  pony.  He  couldn't  see,  and  as  he  was  a  feedin' 
about,  he  tumbled  in  head  over  heels,  and  they  called  him  always 
arterwards  "  the  Grave-digger." ' 

"  *  Very  simple  people,  them  French,'  sais  I,  *  Elder ;  they  don't 
know  nothin'  about  bosses,  do  they  ?  Their  priests  keep  them  in 
ignorance  on  purpose.' 

"  Steve  winced  and  squinched  his  face  properly ;  and  said  the 
glass  in  his  hands  hurt  him.  Well,  arter  we  sot  all  to  rights,  we 
began  to  jog  on  towards  Digby.  The  Elder  didn't  say  much,  he 
was  as  chop-fallen  as  a  wounded  moose ;  at  last,  says  he,  '  I'll  ship 
him  to  St.  John,  and  sell  him.  I'll  put  him  on  board  of  Captain 
Ned  Leonard's  vessel,  as  soon  as  I  get  to  Digby.'  Well,  as  I  turned 
my  head  to  answer  him,  and  sot  eyes  on  him  agin,  it  most  sot  me  a 
haw,  hawin'  a  second  time,  he  did  look  so  like  Old  Scratch.  Oh, 
Hedges!  how  haggardised  he  wasl  His  new  hat  was  smashed 
down  like  a  cap  on  the  crown  of  his  head,  his  white  cravat  was 
bloody,  his  face  all  scratched,  as  if  he  had  been  clapper-clawed  by  a 
woman,  and  his  hands  was  bound  up  with  rags,  where  the  glass  cut 
*em.  The  white  sand  of  the  floor  of  Everett's  parlor  had  stuck  to 
his  damp  clothes,  and  he  looked  like  an  old  half-corned  miller,  that 
was  a  returnin'  to  his  wife,  arter  a  spree ;  a  leetle  crest-fallen  for 
what  he  had  got,  a  leetle  mean  for  the  way  he  looked,  and  a  leetle 
skeered  for  what  he'd  catch,  when  he  got  to  home.  The  way  he 
sloped  warn't  no  matter.  He  was  a  pictur,  and  a  pictur  I  must  say, 
I  liked  to  look  at. 

"  And  now.  Squire,  do  you  take  him  off,  too,  ingrave  him,  and 
bind  him  up  in  your  book,  and  let  others  look  at  it,  and  put  onder  it, 
*  the  Elder  and  the  Grave-digger* 

"  Well,  when  we  got  to  town,  the  tide  was  high,  and  the  vessel 


174 


THE  ATTACH^;   oR, 


list  ready  to  cast  ofT;  and  Steve,  knowin'  how  skeer'd  the  pony  was 
of  the  water,  got  off  to  lead  hiro,  but  the  crittur  guessed  it  warn't  a 
bridge,  for  he  smelt  salt  water  on  both  sides  of  him,  and  ahead,  too, 
and  budge  he  wouldn't.  Well,  they  beat  him  most  to  death,  but  he 
beat  back  agin  with  his  heels,  and  it  was  a  drawd  light.  They  then 
goes  to  the  fence,  and  gets  a  great  strong  pole,  and  puts  it  across  his 
hams,  two  men  at  each  eend  of  the  pole,  and  shoved  away,  and 
shoved  away,  till  they  progressed  a  yard  or  so ;  when  pony  squatted 
right  down  on  the  pole,  throwd  over  the  men,  and  most  broke  their 
legs  with  his  weight. 

"  At  lust,  the  captain  fetched  a  rope,  and  fixes  it  round  his  neck, 
with  a  slip  knot,  fastens  it  to  the  windlass,  and  dragged  him  in  as 
they  do  an  anchor,  and  tied  him  by  his  bridle  to  the  boom ;  and  then 
shoved  off,  and  got  under  weigh. 

"  Steve  and  1  sot  down  on  the  wharf,  for  it  was  a  beautiful  day, 
and  looked  at  them  driftin'  out  in  the  stream,  and  hystin'  sail,  while 
the  folks  was  gettin'  somethin'  ready  for  us  to  the  inn. 

''  When  they  had  got  out  into  the  middle  of  the  channel,  took  the 
breeze,  and  was  all  under  way,  and  we  was  about  turnin'  to  go  back, 
I  saw  the  pony  loose ;  he  had  slipped  his  bridle,  and  not  likin'  the 
motion  of  the  vessel,  he  jist  walked  overboard,  head  fust,  with  a 
most  beautiful  splunge. 

"  ^A  most  refreshing  time,*  said  I,  *  Elder,  that  critter  has  of  it.  I 
hope  that  sinner  will  be  saved.' 

"  He  sprung  right  up  on  eend,  as  if  he  had  been  stung  by  a  galley 
nipper,  did  Steve, '  Let  me  alone,'  said  he.  '  What  have  1  done  to 
be  jobed  that  way  ?  Didn't  I  keep  within  the  strict  line  o'  truth  ? 
Did  I  tell  that  Frenchman  one  mossel  of  a  lie  ?  Answer  me  that, 
will  you  ?  I've  been  cheated  awful;  but  I  scorn  to  take  the  advan- 
tage of  any  man.  You  had  better  look  to  your  own  dealin's,  and  let 
me  alone,  you  pedlin',  cheatin'  Yankee  clockmaker  you.' 

" '  Elder,'  sais  I, '  if  you  warn't  too  mean  to  rile  a  man,  I'd  give 
you  a  kick  en  your  pillion,  that  would  send  you  a  divin'  arter  your 
boss ;  but  you  ain't  worth  it.  Don't  call  me  names  tho',  or  I'll  settle 
your  coffee  for  you,  without  a  fish  skin,  afore  you  are  ready  to 
swaller  it,  I  can  tell  you.  So  keep  your  mouth  shut,  my  old  coon, 
or  your  teeth  might  get  sun-burnt.  You  think  you  are  angry  with 
me  ;  but  you  ain't ;  you  are  angry  with  yourself.  You  know  you 
have  showd  yourself  a  proper  fool  for  to  come,  for  to  go,  for  to  talk 
to  a  man  that  has  seed  so  much  of  the  world  as  I  have,  bout  "  re- 
freshirC  time"  and  ^^  out-pounn'  of  spirit,"  and  ^^makin'  profession," 
and  what  not ;  and  you  know  you  showed  yourself  an  everlastin* 
rogue,  a  meditatin'  of  cheatin'  that  Frenchman  all  summer.  It's 
biter  bit,  and  I  don't  pity  you  one  mossel ;  it  sarves  you  right.  But 
look  at  the  grave-digger;  he  looks  to  me  as  if  he  was  a  diggin'  of 
his  own  grave  in  rael  right  down  airnesU' 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


176 


*'  The  captain  havin'  his  boat  histed,  and  thinkin'  the  hoss  would 
swim  ashore  of  hisself,  kept  right  straight  on ;  and  the  hoss  swam 
this  way,  and  that  way,  and  every  way  but  the  right  road,  jist  as  the 
eddies  took  him.  At  last,  he  got  into  the  ripps  off  of  Johnston's 
pint,  and  they  wheeled  him  right  round  and  round  like  a  whip-top. 
Poor  pony !  he  got  his  match  at  last.  He  struggled,  and  jumpt,  and 
plunged,  and  fort,  like  a  man,  for  dear  life.  Fust  went  up  his 
knowin'  little  head,  that  had  no  ears ;  and  he  tried  to  jump  up  and 
rear  out  of  it,  as  he  used  to  did  out  of  a  mire  hole  or  honey  pot 
ashore ;  but  there  was  no  bottom  there ;  nothin'  for  his  hind  foot  to 
spring  from ;  so  down  he  went  agin  ever  so  deep  ;  and  then  he  tried 
t'other  eend,  and  up  went  his  broad  rump,  that  had  no  tail ;  but 
there  was  nothin'  for  the  fore  feet  to  rest  on  nother ;  so  he  made  a 
summerset,  and  as  he  went  over,  he  gave  out  a  great  long  endwise 
kick  to  the  full  stretch  of  his  hind  legs. 

"  Poor  feller  1  it  was  the  last  kick  he  ever  gave  in  this  world  ;  he 
sent  his  heels  straight  up  on  eend,  like  a  pair  of  kitchen  tongs,  and 
the  last  I  see  of  him  was  a  bright  dazzle,  as  the  sun  shined  on  his 
iron  shoes,  afore  the  water  closed  over  him  for  ever. 

"  I  railly  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  old  *  grave-digger,'  I  did  upon  my 
fioul,  for  bosses  and  ladies  are  two  things  that  a  body  can't  help  likin'. 
Indeed,  a  feller  that  hante  no  taste  tliat  way  ain't  a  man  at  all,  in 
my  opinion.  Yes,  I  felt  ugly  for  poor  '  grave-digger,*  though  I  didn't 
feel  one  single  bit  so  for  that  cantin',  cheatin',  old  Elder.  So  when 
I  turns  to  go,  sais  I,  '  Elder,'  sais  I,  and  I  jist  repeated  his  own 
words — *  I  guess  it's  your  turn  to  laugh  now,  for  you  have  got  the 
best  of  the  bargain,  and  no  mistake.  Goodish  and  the  old  mare  are 
jist  alike,  all  tongue,  ain't  they  ?  But  these  French  is  a  simple  peo- 
ple, so  they  be ;  they  don't  know  nothin',  that's  a  fact.  Their  priests 
keep  'em  in  ignorance  a  puppus. 

" '  The  next  time  you  tell  your  experience  to  the  great  Christian 
meetin*  to  Goose  Creek,  jist  up  and  tell  'em,  from  beginnin*  to  eend, 
the  story  of  the  *  Elder  and  the  Grave-digger.' " 


re- 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


LOOKING    BACK. 


In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Hopewell  adverted  to  his  return 
as  a  matter  of  professional  duty,  and  spoke  of  it  in  such  a  feeling  and 
earnest  manner,  as  to  leave  no  doubt  upon  my  mind,  that  we  should 


176 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


I 


f  . 


ll! 


not  be  able  to  detain  him  long  in  this  country,  unless  his  attention 
should  be  kept  fully  occupied  by  a  constant  change  of  scene. 

Mr.  Slick  expressed  to  me  the  same  fear,  and,  knowing  that  I  had 
been  talking  of  going  to  Scotland,  entreated  me  not  to  be  long  absent, 
for  he  felt  convinced  that  as  soon  as  he  should  be  left  alone,  his 
thoughts  and  wishes  would  at  once  revert  to  America. 

"  I  will  try  to  keep  him  up,"  said  he,  "  as  well  as  I  can,  but  I  can't 
do  it  alone.  If  you  do  go,  don't  leave  us  long.  Whenever  I  find 
him  dull,  and  can't  cheer  him  up  no  how  I  can  fix  it,  by  talk,  or  fun, 
or  sight  seein*  or  nothin',  I  make  him  vexed,  and  that  excites  him, 
stirs  him  up  with  a  pot  stick,  and  is  of  great  sarvice  to  him.  I  don't 
mean  actilly  makin'  him  wrathy  in  airnest,  but  jist  rilin  of  him  for 
his  own  good,  by  pokin'  a  mistake  at  him.  1 11  show  you,  presently, 
how  I  do  it." 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Hopewell  rejoined  us,  he  began  to  inquire  into 
the  probable  duration  of  my  visit  to  Scotland,  and  expressed  a  wish 
to  return,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  Slickville. 

"  Come,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder, 
"  as  father  used  to  say,  we  mupl, '  right  about  face'  now.  When  ^.  '^ 
are  at  home  let  us  think  of  home,  when  we  are  here  let  us  think  of 
this  place.  Let  us  look  a-head,  don't  let's  look  back,  for  we  can't  see 
nothin'  there." 

"  Indeed,  Sam,"  said  he,  with  a  sad  and  melancholy  air,  "  it  would 
be  better  for  us  all  if  we  looked  back  oftener  than  we  do.  From  the 
errors  of  the  past,  we  might  rectify  our  course  for  the  future.  Pros- 
pective sin  is  often  clothed  in  very  alluring  garments ;  past  sin  ap- 
pears in  all  its  naked  deformity.     Looking  back,  therefore — " 

"  Is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  in  the  way  of  preachin' ;  but 
lookin'  back  when  you  can't  see  nothin',  as  you  are  now,  is  only  a 
hurtin*  of  your  eyes.  I  never  hear  that  word,  *  lookin'  back,'  that  I 
don't  think  of  that  funny  story  of  Lot's  wife." 

"Funny  story  of  Lot's  wife,  Sir!  Do  you  ca'l  that  a  funny 
story,  Sir?" 

« I  do.  Sir." 

«Youdo,  Sir?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Sir ;  and  I  defy  you  or  any  other  man  to  say  it  ain*t 
a  funny  story." 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  that  I  should  have  lived  to 
see  the  day  when  you,  my  son,  would  dare  to  speak  of  a  Di^'ine  judg- 
ment as  a  funny  story,  and  that  you  should  presume  so  to  ad- 
dress me." 

"A judgment.  Sir?" 

"  Yes,  a  judgment.  Sir." 

"  Do  you  call  the  story  of  -Loot's  wife's  a  judgment  ?** 

"  Yes,  I  do  call  the  story  of  Lot's  wife  a  judgment ;  a  monuirjienft 
of  the  Divine  wrath  for  the  sin  of  disobedience." 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


177 


I 


"What!  Mrs.  Happy  Lot?  Do  you  call  her  a  monument  of 
wrath  ?  Well,  well,  if  that  don't  beat  all,  Minister.  If  you  had  a 
been  a-tyin*  of  the  night-cap  last  night  I  shouldn't  a  wondered  at 
your  talkin'  at  that  pace.  But  to  call  that  dear  little  woman,  Mrs. 
Happy  Lot,  that  dancin',  laughin',  tormentin',  little  critter,  a  monu- 
ment of  wrath,  beats  all  to  immortal  smash." 

"  Why,  who  are  you  a  talkin'  of,  Sam  ?" 

"  Why,  IkL-s.  Happy  Lot,  the  wife  of  the  Honorable  Cranbery  Lot, 
of  Umbagog,  to  be  sure.     Who  did  you  think  I  was  a  talkin'  of?" 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  was  a-talkin'  of— of — ahem — of  subjects  too 
serious  to  be  talked  of  in  that  manner ;  but  I  did  you  wrong,  Sam : 
I  did  you  injustice.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  boy.  It's  better  for 
me  to  mistake  and  apologize,  than  for  you  to  sin  and  repent.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  heard  of  Mr.  Lot,  of  Umbagog,  or  of  his  wife  either. 
Sit  down  here,  and  tell  me  the  story,  for  '  with  thee  conversing,  I 
forget  all  time.' " 

"  Well,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I'll  tell  you  the  inns  and  outs 
of  it ;  and  a  droll  story  it  is  too.  Miss  Lot  was  the  darter  of  Enoch 
Mosher,  the  rich  miser  of  Goshen ;  as  beautiful  a  little  critter,  too, 
as  ever  stept  in  shoe-leather.  She  look€d  for  all  the  world  like  one 
of  the  Paris  fashion  prints,  for  she  was  a  parfect  pictur',  that's  a  fact. 
Her  complexion  was  made  of  white  and  red  roses,  mixed  so  beauti- 
ful, you  couldn't  tell  where  the  white  eended  or  the  red  begun,  natur* 
had  used  the  blendin'  brush  so  delicate.  Her  eyes  were  screw 
augers,  I  tell  you ;  they  bored  right  into  your  heart,  and  kinder 
agitated  you,  and  made  your  breath  come  and  go,  and  your  pulse 
flutter.  I  never  felt  nathin'  like  'em.  When  lit  up,  they  sparkled 
like  lamp  reflectors :  and  at  other  times,  they  was  as  soft,  and  mild, 
and  clear  as  dew-drops  that  hang  on  the  bushes  at  sun-rise.  When 
she  loved,  she  loved ;  ai;d  when  she  hated,  she  hated  about  the  wick- 
edest you  ever  see.  Her  lips  were  like  heart  cherries  of  the  carna- 
tion kind ;  so  plump,  and  full,  and  hard,  you  felt  as  if  you  could  fall 
to  and  eat  'em  right  up  Her  voice  was  like  a  grand  piany,  all  sorts 
o'  power  in  it ;  canary- jirds'  notes  at  one  eend,  and  thunder  at  t'other, 
accordin*  to  the  humor  she  was  in,  for  she  was  a'most  a  grand  bit  of 
stuff  was  Happy,  she'd  put  an  edge  on  a  knife  a'most.  She  was  a 
rael  steel.  Her  figur'  was  as  light  as  a  fairy's,  and  her  waist  was  so 
taper  and  tiny,  it  seemed  jist  made  for  puttin'  an  arm  around  in 
walkin'.  She  was  as  SiCtive  and  springy  on  her  feet  as  a  catamount, 
and  near  about  as  touch-me-not  a  sort  of  customer  too.  She  actilly 
did  seem  as  if  she  was  made  out  of  steel  springs  and  chicken-hawk. 
If  old  Cran.  was  to  slip  off  the  hanlle,  I  think  I  should  make  up  to 
her,  for  she  is  '  a  salt,'  that's  a  fact,  a  most  a  heavenly  splice. 

"  Well,  the  Honorable  Cranbery  Lot  put  in  for  her,  won  her,  and 
married  her.  A  good  speculation  it  turned  out  too,  for  he  got  the 
matter  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  by  her,  if  he  got  a  cent.    As 

8* 


178 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


soon  as  they  were  fairly  welded,  off  they  sot  to  take  the  tour  of  Eu- 
rope, and  they  larfed  and  cried,  and  kissed  and  quarrelled,  and  fit 
and  made  up  all  over  the  Continent,  for  her  temper  was  as  onsartain 
as  the  climate  here — ^rain  one  minit  and  sun  the  next ;  but  more  rain 
nor  sun. 

"  He  was  a  fool,  was  Cranbery.  He  didn't  know  how  to  manage 
her.  His  br'dle  hand  wam't  good,  I  tell  you.  A  spry,  mettlesome 
boss,  and  a  dull  critter  with  no  action,  don't  mate  weU  in  harness, 
that's  a  fact. 

"After  goin*  everywhere,  and  everywhere  else  a'most,  where 
should  they  get  to  but  the  Alps.  One  artemoon,  a  sincerely  cold 
one  it  was  too,  and  the  weather,  violent  slippy,  dark  overtook  them 
before  they  reached  the  top  of  one  of  the  highest  and  steepest  of 
them  mountains,  and  they  had  to  spend  the  night  at  a  poor  squatter's 
shanty. 

"  Well,  next  momin',  jist  at  day-break,  and  sun-rise  on  them  ever- 
lastin'  hills  is  tall  sun-rise,  and  no  mistake,  p'rhaps  nothin'  was  ever 
seen  so  fine  except  the  first  one,  since  creation.  It  takes  the  rag  off 
quite.  Well,  she  was  an  enterprisin'  little  toad,  was  Miss  Lot  too, 
afeered  of  nothin*  a'most ;  so  nothin'  would  sarve  her  but  she  must 
out  and  have  a  scramb  up  to  the  tip-topest  part  of  the  peak  afore 
breakfast. 

"  Well,  the  squatter  there,  who  was  a  kind  o'  guide,  did  what  he 
could  to  dispersuade  her,  but  all  to  no  purpose ;  go  she  would,  ana  a 
headstrong  woman  and  a  runaway  boss  are  jist  two  things  it's  out 
of  all  reason  to  try  to  stop.  The  only  way  is  to  urge  'em  on,  and 
then,  bein'  contrary  by  natur'  they  stop  of  themselves. 

"  '  Well,'  sais  the  guide,  '  if  you  will  go,  marm,  do  take  this  pike 
staff,  marm,'  sais  he ;  (a  sort  of  walkin'-stick  with  a  spike  to  the  eend 
of  it,)  '  for  you  can't  get  either  up  or  down  them  slopes  without  it,  it 
is  so  almighty  slippy  there.'  So  she  took  the  staff,  and  off  she  sot 
and  climbed  and  climbed  ever  so  far,  till  she  didn't  look  no  bigger 
than  a  snow  bird. 

**  At  last  she  came  to  a  small  flat  place,  like  a  table,  and  then  she 
turned  round  to  rest,  get  breath,  and  take  a  look  at  the  glorious  view; 
and  jist  as  she  hove-to,  up  went  her  little  heels,  and  away  went  her 
stick,  right  over  a  big  parperr^icular  cliff,  hundreds  and  hundreds, 
and  thousands  of  feet  deep.  So  deep,  you  couldn't  see  the  bottom 
for  the  shadows,  for  the  very  snow  looked  black  down  there.  There 
is  no  way  in,  it  is  so  steep,  but  over  the  cliff;  and  no  way  out,  but 
on€,  and  that  leads  to  t'other  world.  I  can't  describe  it  to  you, 
though  I  have  see'd  it  since  myself.  There  are  some  things  too  big 
to  litl ;  some  too  big  to  carry  after  they  be  lifted ;  and  some  too 
grand  for  the  tongue  to  describe,  too.  There's  a  notch  where  dic- 
tionary can't  go  no  farther,  m  well  as  every  other  created  thing, 
that's  a  fact.     P'rhaps  if  1  was  to  say  it  looked  like  the  mould  that 


SAM  SLICK  Ii;   ENGLAND. 


179 


fliat  'are  very  peak  was  ca^  in,  afore  it  was  cold  and  stiff,  and  sot 
up  on  eend,  I  should  come  as  near  the  mark  as  anything  I  know  on. 

"  Well,  away  she  slid,  feet  and  hands  out,  all  flat  on  her  face, 
right  away,  arter  her  pike  staff.  Most  people  would  have  ginn  it 
up  as  gone  goose,  and  others  been  so  frightened  as  not  to  do  any- 
thing at  all ;  or  at  most  only  jist  to  think  of  a  prayer,  for  there  was 
no  time  to  say  one. 

"But  not  so  Lot's  wife.     She  was  of  a  conquerin'  natur'.     She 
_,ave  nothin'  up,  till  she  coulJn't  hold  on  no  longer.     She  was 

ic  o'  them  critters  that  go  to  bed  mistress,  and  rise  master ;  and 
just  as  she  got  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  her  head  hangin'  over, 
and  her  eyes  lookin'  down,  and  she  all  but  ready  to  shoot  out  and 
launch  a  <ij  ito  bottomless  space,  the  ten  commandments  brought 
her  right  short  up.  Oh,  she  sais,  the  sudden  joy  of  that  sudden 
stop  swelled  her  heart  so  big  she  thought  it  would  liave  bust  like  a 
byler ;  and,  as  it  was,  the  great  c  iidurin'  long  breath  she  drew,  arter 
such  ui,  u' fired  escape,  almost  killed  her  at  the  ebb,  it  hurt  her  so." 

"  .Out/'  baid  Mr,  Hopewell,  "  how  did  the  ten  commandments 
save  herr  Do  you  mean  figui'atively,  or  liteiiUy.  Was  it  her 
reliance  on  providence,  arising  from  a  consciot  observance  of  the 
decalogue  all  her  life,  or  was  it  a  book  containing  them,  that  caught 
against  something,  and  stopt  her  descent.  It  is  very  interesting. 
Many  a  person,  Sam,  has  been  saved  when  at  the  brink  of  destruc- 
tion, by  laying  fast  hold  on  the  Bible.  Who  can  doubt,  that  the 
commandments  had  a  Divine  origin?  Short,  simple,  and  com- 
prehensive ;  the  first  four  point  to  our  duty  to  our  Maker,  the  last 
six,  towards  our  social  duties.  In  this  respect  there  is  a  great 
similarity  of  structure  to  that  excellent  prayer  given  us " 

"  Oh,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick, "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  do,  indeed, 
I  don't  mean  that  at  all ;  and  I  do  declare  and  vow  now,  I  wasn't  a 
playin'  possum  with  you,  nother.  I  won't  do  it  no  more,  I  won't, 
indeed." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  mean,  then  ?" 

"  Why,  I  meant  her  ten  fingers,  to  be  sure.  When  a  woman 
dupper  claws  her  husband,  we  have  a  cant  tarm  with  us  boys  of 
Slickville,  sayin'  she  gave  him  her  ten  commandments." 

"  And  a  very  improper  expression,  too,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell ; 
*'  a  very  irreverent,  indecent,  and  I  may  say  profane  expression  ;  I 
am  quite  shocked.  But  as  you  say  you  didn't  mean  it,  are  sorry  for 
it,  and  will  not  repeat  it  again,  I  accept  your  apology,  and  rely  on 
your  promise.     Go  on,  Sir." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  the  moment  she  found  herself  a  coasting 
of  it  that  way,  flounder  lashion,  she  hung  on  by  her  ten  com — ^1 
mean  her  ten  fingers,  and  her  ten  toes,  like  grim  death  to  a  dead 
nigger,  and  it  brought  her  up  jist  in  time.  But  how  to  get  back 
was  the  question  ?     To  let  go  the  hold  of  any  one  hand  was  sartin 


■Tf! 


!! 

I 


i 


180 


THE  ATTACHE;   OU, 


death,  and  there  was  nobody  to  help  her,  and  yet  to  hold  on  long 
that  way,  she  couldn't,  no  how  she  could  fix  it. 

"  So,  what  does  she  do,  (for  nothin'  equals  a  woman  for  con- 
trivances), but  move  one  finger  at  a  time,  and  then  one  toe  at  a 
time,  till  she  gets  a  new  hold,  and  then  crawls  backward,  like  a 
span-worm,  an  inch  at  a  hitch.  Well,  she  works  her  passage  this 
way,  wrong  eend  foremost,  by  backin'  of  her  paddles  for  the  matter 
of  half  an  hour  or  so,  till  she  gets  to  where  it  was  roughish,  and 
somethin'  like  standin'  gi*ound,  when  who  should  come  by  but  a  tall 
handsome  man,  with  a  sort  of  half  coat,  half  cloak -like  coverin'  on, 
fastened  round  the  waist  with  a  belt,  and  havin'  a  hood  up,  to 
ambush  the  head. 

"  The  moment  she  clapt  eyes  on  him,  she  called  to  him  for  help. 
'  Oh,'  sais  she,  *  for  heaven's  sake,  good  man,  help  me  up  I  Jist 
take  hold  of  my  leg,  and  draw  me  back,  will  you,  that's  a  good  soul  ?* 
And  then  she  held  up  fust  one  leg  for  him,  and  then  the  other,  most 
beseechin',  but  nothin'  would  move  him.  He  jist  stopt,  looked  back 
for  a  moment,  and  then  progressed  agin. 

*'  Well,  it  ryled  hor  considerable.  Her  eyes  actilly  snapped  with 
fire,  like  a  hemlock  log  at  Christmas  :  (for  nothin'  makes  a  woman 
so  mad  as  a  parsonal  slight,  and  them  little  ankles  of  hern  were 
enough  to  move  the  heart  of  a  stone,  and  make  it  jump  out  o'  the 
ground,  that's  a  fact,  they  were  such  fine-spun  glass  ones,)  it  made 
her  so  mad,  it  gave  her  fresh  strength  ;  and  makin'  two  or  three 
onnateral  efforts,  she  got  clear  back  to  the  path,  and  sprung  right 
up  on  eend,  as  wicked  as  a  she-bear  with  a  sore  head.  But  when 
she  got  upright  agin,  she  then  see'd  what  a  beautiful  frizzle  of  a  fix 
she  was  in.  She  couldn't  hope  to  climb  far ;  and,  indeed,  she  didn't 
ambition  to ;  she'd  had  enough  of  that  for  one  spell.  But  climbin* 
up  was  nothin',  compared  to  goin'  down  hill  without  her  staff;  so 
what  to  do,  she  didn't  know. 

"  At  last,  a  thought  struck  her.  She  intarmined  to  make  that 
man  help  her,  in  spite  of  him.  So,  she  sprung  forward  for  a  space, 
like  a  painter,  for  life  or  death,  and  caught  right  hold  of  his  cloak. 
'  Help — help  me !'  said  she, '  or  I  shall  go  for  it,  that's  sartain.  Here's 
my  puss,  my  rings,  my  watch,  and  all  I  have  got :  but,  oh,  help  me  I 
for  the  love  of  God,  help  me,  or  my  flint  is  fixed  for  good  and  all.* 

"  With  that,  the  man  turned  round,  and  took  one  glance  at  her,  as 
if  he  kinder  relented,  and  then,  all  at  once,  wheeled  back  agin,  as 
amazed  as  if  he  was  jist  born,  gave  an  awful  yell,  and  started  off  as 
fast  as  he  could  clip,  though  that  warn't  very  tall  runnin'  nother, 
considering  the  ground.  But  she  warn't  to  be  shook  off  that  way. 
She  held  fast  to  his  cloak,  like  a  burr  to  a  sheep's  tail,  and  raced 
arter  him,  screamin'  and  screechin'  like  mad ;  and  the  more  she 
cried,  the  louder  he  yelled,  till  the  mountains  all  echoed  it  and  re- 


.1  J"!  imrww^wm^mv^Vm^ 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


181 


echoed  it,  so  that  you  would  have  thought  a  thousand  devils  had 
broke  loose,  a'most. 

;  "  '  Such  a  gettin'  up  stairs  you  never  did  see.' 

"  Well,  they  kept  up  this  tantrum  for  the  space  of  two  or  three 
hundred  yards,  when  they  came  to  a  small,  low,  dismal-look  in' 
house,  when  the  man  gave  the  door  a  kick,  that  sent  the  latch  a 
flyin'  off  to  the  t'other  eend  of  the  room,  and  fell  right  in  on  the 
floor,  on  his  face,  as  flat  as  a  flounder,  a  groanin'  and  a  moanin'  like 
anything,  and  lookin'  as  mean  as  a  critter  that  was  sent  for,  and 
couldn't  come,  and  as  obstinate  as  a  pine  stump. 

"  '  What  ails  you  ?'  sais  she,  '  to  act  like  Old  Scratch  that  way  ? 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  behave  so  to  a  woman. 
What  on  airth  is  there  about  me  to  frighten  you  so,  you  great  on- 
mannerly,  onmarciful,  coward,  you.    Come,  scratch  up,  this  minute.' 

"  Well,  the  more  she  talked,  the  more  he  groaned ;  but  the  devil 
a  word,  good  or  bad,  could  she  get  out  of  him  at  all.  With  that,  she 
stoops  down,  and  catches  up  his  staff,  and  sais  she, '  I  have  as  great 
a  mirid  to  give  you  a  jab  with  this  here  toothpick,  where  your  mo- 
ther used  to  spank  you,  as  ever  I  had  in  all  my  life.,  But  if  you 
want  it,  my  old  'coon,  you  must  come  and  get  it ;  for  if  you  won't 
help  me,  I  shall  help  myself.' 

"  Jist  at  that  moment,  her  eyes  being  better  accustomed  to  the 
dim  light  of  the  place,  she  see'd  a  man,  a  sittin'  at  the  fur  eend  of 
the  room,  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  larfin'  ready  to  kill  himself.  He 
grinned  so,  he  showed  his  corn-crackers  from  ear  to  ear.  She  said, 
he  stript  his  teeth  like  a  catamount,  he  look'd  so  all  mouth. 

"  Well,  that  encouraged  her,  for  there  ain't  much  harm  in  a  larfin' 
man ;  it's  only  them  that  never  larf  that's  fearfulsome.  So,  sais  she, 
*  My  good  man,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  lend  me  your  arm  down 
this  awful  peak,  and  I  will  reward  you  handsomely,  you  may 
depend.' 

"  Well,  he  made  no  answer  nother ;  and,  thinkin'  he  didn't  onder- 
stand  English,  she  tried  him  in  Italian,  and  then  in  broken  French, 
and  then  bungled  out  a  little  German ;  but  no,  still  no  answer.  He 
took  no  more  notice  of  her  and  her  mister,  and  senior,  and  mount- 
sheer,  and  mynheer,  than  if  he  never  heerd  them  titles,  but  jist 
larfed  on. 

"  She  stopped  a  minit,  and  looked  at  him  full  in  the  face,  to  see 
what  he  meant  by  all  this  ongenteel  behavior,  when  all  of  a  sudden, 
jist  as  she  moved  one  step  nearer  to  him,  she  saw  he  was  a  dead 
man,  and  had  been  so  long  there,  part  of  the  flesh  had  dropt  off"  or 
dried  ofl'  his  face ;  and  it  was  that  that  made  him  grin  that  way,  like 
a  fox-trap.  It  was  the  bone-house  they  was  in.  The  place  where 
poor,  benighted,  snow-squalled  stragglers,  that  perish  on  the  moun- 


182 


THB    ATTACH^;  OR, 


'\ 


tains,  are  located,  for  their  friends  to  come  and  get  them,  if  they 
want  'em ;  and  if  there  ain't  any  body  that  knows  'em  or  cares  for 
'em,  why,  they  are  left  there  for  ever,  to  dry  into  nothin'  but 
parchment  and  atomy,  as  it's  no  joke  diggin'  a  grave  in  that  frozen 
region. 

"  As  soon  as  she  see'd  this,  she  never  said  another  blessed  word, 
but  jist  walked  off  with  the  livin'  man's  pike,  and  began  to  poke  her 
way  down  the  mountain  as  careful  as  she  cleverly  could,  dreadful 
tired,  and  awful  frighted. 

"  "Well,  she  hadn't  gone  far,  afore  she  heard  her  name  echoed 
all  round  her — -Happy  !  Happy  !  Happy  !  It  seemed  from  the 
echoes  agin,  as  if  thsre  was  a  hundred  people  a  yelling  it  out  all  at 
once. 

"  '  Oh,  very  happy,*  said  she,  '  very  happy  indeed ;  guess  you'd 
find  it  so  if  you  was  here.  I  know  I  should  feel  very  happy  if  I 
was  out  of  it,  that's  all ;  for  I  believe,  on  my  soul,  this  is  hamted 
ground,  and  the  people  in  it  are  possessed.  Oh,  if  I  was  only  to 
home,  to  dear  Umbagog  agin,  no  soul  should  ever  ketch  me  in  this 
outlandish  place  any  more,  /know.' 

"  Well,  the  sound  increased  and  increased  so,  like  young  thunder, 
she  was  e'en  a'most  skeared  to  death,  and  in  a  twitteration  all  over; 
and  her  knyes  began  to  shake  so,  she  expected  to  go  for  it  every 
minute  ;  when  a  sudden  turn  of  the  path  showed  her  her  husband 
and  the  poor  squatter  a  sarchin'  for  her. 

"  She  was  so  overcome  with  fright  and  joy,  she  could  hardly 
speak — and  it  wp.rn't  a  trifle  that  would  toggle  her  tongue,  that's  a 
fact.  It  was  somo  time  after  she  arrived  at  the  house  afore  she 
could  up  and  tell  the  story  onderstandable  ;  and  when  she  did,  she 
had  to  tell  it  twice  over,  first  in  short  hand,  and  then  in  long  metre, 
afore  she  could  make  out  the  whole  bill  o'  parcels.  Indeed,  she 
hante  done  tellin'  it  yet,  and  wherever  she  is,  she  works  round,  and 
works  round,  till  she  gets  Europe  spoke  of,  and  then  she  begins, 
'  That  reminds  me  of  a  most  remarkable  fact.  Jist  after  I  was  mar- 
ried to  Mr.  Lot,  we  was  to  the  Alps.* 

"  If  ever  you  see  her,  and  she  begins  that  way,  up  hat  and  cut 
stick,  double  quick,  or  you'll  find  the  road  over  the  Alps  to  Umba- 
gog a  little  the  longest  you've  ever  travelled,  I  know. 

"  Well,  she  had  no  sooner  done  than  Cranbery  jumps  up  on  eend, 
and  says  he  to  the  guide,  '  Uncle,'  sais  he,  *  jist  come  along  with 
me,  that's  a  good  feller,  will  you  ?  We  must  return  that  good  Sa- 
maritan's cane  to  him ;  and  as  he  must  be  considerable  cold  there, 
I'll  jist  warm  his  hide  a  bit  for  him,  to  make  his  blood  sarculate. 
If  he  thinks  I'll  put  that  treatment  to  my  wife,  Miss  Lot,  into  my 
pocket,  and  walk  off  with  it,  he's  mistaken  in  the  child,  that's  all. 
Sir.  lie  may  be  stubbeder  than  I  be,  Uncle,  that's  a  fact ;  but  if 
he  was  twice  as  stubbed,  I'd  walk  into  him  like  a  thousand  of 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


183 


bricks.  I'll  give  him  a  taste  of  my  breed.  Insultin'  a  lady  is  a 
weed  we  don't  suffer  to  grow  in  our  fields  to  Umbagog.  Let  him 
be  who  the  devil  he  will,  log-leg  or  leather-breeches — green-shirt  or 
blanket-coat — land-trotter  or  river-roller,  I'll  let  him  know  there  is 
a  warrant  out  arter  him,  I  know.' 

" '  Why,'  sais  the  guide,  '  he  couldn't  help  himself,  no  how  he 
could  work  it.  He  is  a  friar,  or  a  monk,  or  a  hermit,  or  a  pilgrim, 
or  somethin'  or  another  of  that  kind,  for  there  is  no  eend  to  them, 
they  are  so  many  different  sorts ;  but  the  breed  he  is  of,  have  a 
vow  never  to  look  at  a  woman,  or  talk  to  a  woman,  or  touch  a  wo- 
man, and  if  they  do,  there  is  a  penance,  as  long  as  into  the  middle 
of  next  week.' 

"  '  Not  look  at  a  woman  ?'  sais  Cran.  '  Why,  whart  sort  of  a 
guess  world  would  this  be  without  petticoats  ?  What  a  superfine 
superior  tarnation  fool  he  must  be,  to  jine  such  a  tee-total  society 
as  that.  Mint  julip  I  could  give  up,  I  do  suppose,  though  I  had  a 
plaguy  sight  sooner  not  do  it,  that's  a  fact ;  but  as  for  woman-kind, 
why  the  angeliferous  little  torments,  there  is  no  livin'  without  them. 
What  do  you  think,  stranger  ?' 

"  '  Sartainly,'  said  Squatter ;  '  but  seein'  that  the  man  had  a  vow, 
why  it  warn't  his  fault,  for  he  couldn't  do  nothin'  else.  Where  he 
did  wrong,  was  to  look  hack ;  if  he  hadn't  a  looked  hack,  he  wouldn't 
have  sinned.' 

"  <  Well,  well,'  sais  Cran,  *  if  that's  the  case,  it  is  a  boss  of  another 
color,  that  I  won't  look  back  nother,  then.  Let  him  be.  But  he 
is  erroneous  considerable.' 

"  So  you  see,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  where  there  is  nothin* 
to  be  gained,  and  harm  done,  by  this  retrospection,  as  you  call  it, 
why  I  think  lookin'  a-head  is  far  better  than — lookiri'  hack." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


CROSSING    THE    BORDER. 


The  time  had  now  arrived  when  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  go  to 
Scotland  for  a  few  days.  I  luul  two  very  powerful  reasons  for  this 
excursion : — first,  beoAusr  an  old  and  v»iued  friend  of  mine  was 
there,  whom  I  had  not  met  for  many  years,  and  whom  I  couUl  tiot 
think  of  leaving  this  country  without  seeing  again  ;  and  secondly, 
because  I  was  desirous  of  visiang  the  residence  of  my  forefathers 
on  the  Tweed,  which,  although  it  had  ]>a.-'<ied  out  of  their  posses- 
sion many  years  ago,  was  still  endeared  lu  me  as  tJieir  home,  as 


184 


THE  ATTACH^;;   OR, 


the  scene  of  the  family  traditions  ;  and  above  all,  as  their  burial- 
place. 

The  grave  is  the  first  stage  on  the  journey,  from  this  to  the  other 
world.  We  are  permitted  to  escort  our  friends  so  far,  and  no  fur- 
ther. It  is  there  we  part  for  ever.  It  is  there  the  human  form  is 
deposited,  when  mortality  is  changed  for  immortality.  This  burial- 
place  contains  no  one  that  I  have  ever  seen  or  known  ;  but  it  con- 
tains the  remains  of  those  from  whom  I  derived  my  lineage  and  my 
name.     I  therefore  naturally  desired  to  see  it. 

Having  communicated  my  intention  to  my  two  American  compan- 
ions, I  was  very  much  struck  with  the  different  manner  in  which 
they  received  the  announcement. 

"  Come  back  soon.  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick ;  "  go  and  see  your 
old  friend,  if  you  must,  and  go  to  the  old  campin'  grounds  of  your 
folks ;  though  the  wigwam  I  expect  has  gone  long  ago,  but  don't 
look  at  anythin'  else.  I  want  we  should  visit  the  countrv  together. 
I  have  an  idea,  from  what  little  I  have  seed  of  it,  Scotland  is  over- 
rated. I  guess  there  is  a  good  deal  of  romance  about  their  old 
times ;  and  that,  if  we  knowed  all,  their  old  lairds  wam't  much  bet- 
ter, or  much  richer,  than  our  Ingian  chiefs ;  much  of  a  muchness, 
kinder  sorter  so,  and  kinder  sorter  not  so,  no  great  odds.  Both 
hardy,  both  fierce  ;  both  as  poor  as  Job's  Turkey,  and  both  tarna- 
tion proud — at  least  that's  my  idea  to  a  notch. 

"  I  have  often  axed  myself  what  sort  of  a  gall  that  splenderiferous, 
*  Lady  of  the  Lake'  of  Scott  was,  and  I  kinder  guess  she  was  a  red- 
headed Scotch  heifer,  with  her  hair  filled  with  heather,  and  feather, 
and  lint,  with  no  shoes  and  stockings  to  her  feet ;  and  that 


'  Her  lips  apart, 
Like  monument  of  Grecian  art,' 

meant  that  she  stared  with  her  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open,  like  other 
county  galls  that  never  seed  nothing  before — a  regilar  screetch  owl 
in  petticoats.  And  I  suspicion,  that  Mr.  Eob  Eoy  was  a  sort  of 
thievin'  devil  of  a  white  Mohawk,  that  found  it  easier  to  steal  cat- 
tle, than  raise  them  himself ;  and  that  Loch  Katrin,  that  they  make 
such  a  touss  about,  is  jist  about  equal  to  a  good  sizeable  duck-pond 
in  our  country  ;  at  least,  that't.  my  idea.  For  I  tell  you,  it  does  not 
do  to  follow  arte*'  a  poet,  and  take  all  he  says  for  gospel. 

"  Yes,  let's  go  and  see  Sawney  in  his  '  Ould  Reehf*  Airth  and 
seas !  if  I  have  any  nose  at  all,  there  never  was  a  place  so  well 
named  as  that.  Phew !  let  me  light  a  cigar  to  get  rid  of  the  fogo 
of  it. 

"  Then  let's  cross  over  the  sea,  and  see  *  Pat  at  Home ;'  let's 
look  into  matters  and  things  there,  and  see  what  '  Big  Dan  *  is 
about,  with  his   'association'   and   'agitation*   and  'repair  and 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


185 


*  teetotals.'  Let's  see  whether  it's  John  Bull  or  Patlander  that's 
to  blame,  or  both  on  'em ;  six  of  one  and  half-a-dozen  of  tother. 
By  Gosh !  Minister  would  talk  more  sense  in  one  day  to  Ireland, 
than  has  been  talked  there  since  the  rebellion ;  for  common 
sense  is  a  word  that  don't  grow  like  Jacob's  ladder,  in  them  dig- 
gins,  I  guess.  It's  about  as  stunted  as  Gineral  Nichodemus  Ott's 
com  was. 

"  The  Gineral  was  takin'  a  ride  with  a  southerner  one  day  over 
his  farm  to  Bangor  in  Maine,  to  see  his  crops,  fixin  mill  privileges, 
and  what  not,  and  the  southerner  was  a  turning  up  his  nose  at  every- 
thing amost,  proper  scorney,  and  braggin'  how  things  growed  on  his 
estate  down  south.  At  last  the  Gineral's  ebenezer  began  to  rise, 
and  he  got  as  mad  as  a  hatter,  and  was  intarmed  to  take  the  rise  out 
of  him. 

"'So,'  says  he,  'stranger,'  says  he,  *you  talk  about  your  ludgian 
corn,  as  if  nobody  else  raised  any  but  yourself.  Now  I'll  bet  you  a 
thousand  dollars,  I  have  com  that's  growd  so  wonderful,  you  can't 
reach  the  top  of  it  a  standin'  on  your  horse.' 

" '  Done,'  sais  Southener,  and  '  Done,'  sais  the  General,  and  done 
it  was. 

" '  Now,'  sais  the  Gineral,  '  stand  up  on  your  saddle  like  a  circus 
rider,  for  the  field  is  round  that  corner  of  the  wood  there.'  And  the 
entire  stranger  stood  up  as  stifi"  as  a  poker.  *  Tall  com,  I  guess,* 
sais  he,  •  if  I  can't  reach  it,  any  how,  for  I  can  e'en  a'most  reach  the 
top  o'  them  trees.  I  think  I  feel  them  thousand  dollars  of  youm,  a 
marchin'  quick  step  into  my  pocket,  four  deep.  Keach  your  corn, 
to  be  sure  I  will.  Who  the  plague  ever  see'd  com  so  tall,  that  a 
man  couldn't  reach  it  a  horseback  ?' 

"'Try  it,'  sais  the  Gineral,  as  he  led  him  into  the  field,  where  the 
corn  was  only  a  foot  high,  the  land  was  so  monstrous  mean,  and  so 
beggarly  poor. 

" '  Reach  it,'  sais  the  Gineral. 

" '  "What  a  damned  Yankee  trick  I'  sais  the  Southerner.  *  What 
a  take  in  is  this,  ain't  it  ?'  and  he  leapt,  and  hopt,  and  jumped  like 
a  snappin'  turtle,  he  was  so  mad.  Yes,  common  sense  to  Ireland,  is 
like  Indgian  corn  to  Bangor,  it  ain't  overly  tall  growin',  that's  a  fact. 
We  must  see  both  these  countries  together.  It  is  like  the  nigger's 
pig  to  the  West  Indies,  '  little,  and  dam  old.' 

"  Oh,  come  back  soon,  Squire,  I  have  a  thousand  things  I  want  to 
tell  you,  and  I  shall  forget  one  half  o'  them,  if  you  don't ;  and  be- 
sides," said  he  in  an  under  tone,  " he"  (nodding  his  head  towards  Mr. 
Hopewell,)  "  will  miss  you  shockingly.  He  frets  horridly  about  his 
fiock.  He  says,  ''Mancipation  and  Temperance  have  superseded 
the  Scriptures  in  the  States.  That  formerly  they  preached  religion 
there,  but  now  they  only  preach  about  niggers  and  rum.'  Good  bye, 
Squire." 


186 


THE  A1TACH6:  OB, 


!' 


"  You  do  right,  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  to  go.  That  which 
has  to  be  done,  should  be  done  soon,  lor  we  have  not  always  the 
command  of  our  time.  See  your  friend,  for  the  claims  of  friendship 
are  sacred ;  and  see  your  family  tomb-stones  also,  lor  the  sight  of 
them  will  awaken  a  train  of  reflections  in  a  mind  like  yours,  at  once 
melancholy  and  elevating ;  but  I  will  not  deprive  you  of  the  plea- 
sure you  will  derive  from  first  impressions,  by  stripping  them  of  their 
novelty.  You  will  be  pleased  with  the  Scotch ;  they  are  a  frugal, 
industrious,  moral  and  intellectual  people.  I  should  like  to  see  their 
agriculture,  I  am  told  it  is  by  far  the  best  in  Europe. 

"  But,  Squire,  1  s'luU  hope  to  see  you  soon,  for  I  sometimes  think 
duty  calls  me  home  again.  Although  my  little  flock  has  chosen 
other  shepherds  and  quitted  my  fold,  some  of  them  may  have  seen 
their  error,  and  wish  to  return.  And  ought  I  not  to  be  there  to  re- 
ceive them  ?  It  is  true,  I  am  no  longer  a  laborer  in  the  vineyard, 
but  my  heart  is  there.  I  should  like  to  walk  round  and  round  the 
wall  that  encloses  it,  and  climb  up,  and  look  into  it,  and  talk  to  them 
that  are  at  work  there.  I  might  give  some  advice  that  would  be 
valuable  to  them.  The  blossoms  require  shelter,  and  the  fruit  re- 
quires heat,  and  the  roots  need  covering  in  winter.  The  vme,  too, 
is  luxuriant,  and  must  be  pruned,  or  it  will  produce  nothing  but  wood. 
It  demands  constant  care  and  constant  labor.  I  had  decorated  the 
little  place  with  flowers,  too,  to  make  it  attractive  and  pleasant. 
But,  ah  me  I  dissent  will  pull  all  these  up  like  weeds,  and  throw 
them  out;  and  skepticism  will  raise  nothing  but  gaudy  annuals. 
The  perennials  will  not  flourish  without  cultivating  and  enriching 
the  ground  ;  their  roots  are  in  the  heart.  The  religion  of  our  Church, 
which  is  the  same  as  this  of  England,  is  a  religion  which  inculcates 
love :  filiiil  love  towards  God ;  paternal  love  to  those  committed  to 
our  <;are ;  brotherly  love  to  our  neighbor,  nay,  something  more  than 
is  known  by  that  term  in  its  common  acceptation,  for  we  are  in- 
structed to  love  our  neighbor  as  ourselves. 

"  We  are  directed  to  commence  our  prayer  with  *  Our  Father.' 
How  much  of  love,  of  tenderness,  of  forbearance,  of  kindness,  of  lib- 
erality, is  embodied  in  that  word — children  of  the  same  father,  mem- 
bers of  the  same  great  human  family !  Love  is  the  bond  of  union — 
love  dwelleth  in  the  heart ;  and  the  heart  must  be  cultivated,  that 
the  seeds  of  affection  may  germinate  in  it 

"  Dissent  is  cold  and  sour ;  it  never  appeals  to  the  affections,  but 
it  scatters  denunciations,  and  rules  by  terror.  Skepticism  is  proud 
and  self-sulficient.  It  refuses  to  believe  in  mysteries,  and  deals  in 
rhetoric  and  sophistry,  and  flatters  the  vanity,  by  exalting  human 
reason.  My  poor  lost  flock  will  see  the  change,  and  I  fear,  feel  it 
too.  Besides,  absence  is  a  temporary  death.  Now  I  am  gone  from 
them,  they  will  forget  my  frailties  and  infirmities,  and  dwell  on  what 
little  good  might  have  been  in  me,  and,  perhaps,  yearn  towards  me. 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENOLAND. 


187 


"  If  I  was  to  return,  perhaps  I  could  make  an  impression  on  the 
minds  of  some,  and  recall  two  or  three,  if  not  more,  to  a  sense  of 
duty.  What  a  great  thing  that  would  be,  wouldn't  it  ?  And  if  I 
did,  I  would  get  our  bishop  to  send  me  a  pious,  zealous,  humble- 
minded,  affectionate,  able  young  man,  as  a  successor ;  and  I  would 
leave  my  farm,  and  orchard,  and  little  matters,  as  a  glebe  for  the 
Church.  And  who  knows  but  the  Lord  may  yet  rescue  Slickville 
from  the  inroads  of  ignorant  fanatics,  political  dissenters,  and  wicked 
infidels  ? 

"  And  besides,  my  good  friend,  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  rela- 
tive to  the  present  condition  and  future  prospects  of  this  great  coun- 
try. I  have  lived  to  see  a  few  ambitious  lawyers,  restless  dema- 
gogues, political  preachers,  and  unemjjloyed  local  officers  of  i)rovin- 
cial  regiments,  agitate  and  sever  thirteen  colonies  at  one  time  from 
the  government  of  England.  I  have  witnessed  the  struggle.  It  was 
a  fearful,  a  bloody,  and  an  unnatural  one.  My  opinions,  therefore, 
are  strong  in  proportion  as  my  experience  is  great.  I  have  abstained 
on  account  of  their  appearing  like  preconceptions  from  saying  much 
to  you  yet,  for  I  want  to  see  more  of  this  country,  and  to  be  certain 
that  I  am  quite  right  before  I  speak. 

"  When  you  return,  I  will  give  you  my  views  on  some  of  the  great 
questions  of  the  day.  Don't  adopt  Ihem,  hear  them  and  compare 
them  with  your  own.  I  would  have  you  think  for  yourself,  for  I  am 
an  old  man  now,  and  sometimes  I  distrust  my  powers  of  mind. 

"  The  state  of  this  country  you,  in  your  situation,  ought  to  be 
thoroughly  acquainted  with.  It  is  a  very  perilous  one.  Its  pros- 
perity, its  integrity,  nay  its  existence  as  a  first-rate  power,  hangs  by 
a  thread,  and  that  thread  but  little  better  and  stronger  than  a  cotton 
one.  Quern  Deus  vult  perdere  prius  dementat.  I  look  in  vain  for 
that  constitutional  vigor,  and  intellectual  power,  which  once  ruled 
the  destinies  of  this  great  nation. 

"  There  is  an  aberration  of  intellect,  and  a  want  of  self-possession 
here  that  alarms  me.  I  say,  alarms  me,  for  American  as  I  am  by 
birth,  and  republican  as  I  am  from  the  force  of  circumstances,  I  can- 
not but  regard  England  with  great  interest,  and  with  great  affection. 
What  a  beautiful  country !  What  a  noble  constitution !  What  a 
high-minded,  intelligent,  and  generous  people!  When  the  Whigs 
came  into  office,  the  Tories  were  not  a  party,  they  were  the  people 
of  England.  Where  and  what  are  they  now  ?  Will  they  ever  have 
a  lucid  interval,  or  again  recognize  the  sound  of  their  own  name  ? 
And  yet,  Sam,  doubtful  as  the  prospect  of  their  recovery  is,  and  fear- 
ful as  the  consequences  of  a  continuance  of  their  malady  appear  to 
be,  one  thing  is  most  certain,  a  Tory  government  is  the  proper  gov- 
emmentfor  a  monarchy,  a  suitable  one  for  any  country^  but  it  is  the 
only  one  for  Enghnd.  I  do  not  mean  an  ultra  one,  for  I  am  a  mod- 
erate man,  and  all  extremes  are  equally  to  be  avoided.    I  mean  a 


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188 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


temperate,  but  firm  one :  steady  to  its  friends,  just  to  its  enemies, 
and  inflexible  to  all.  When  compelled  to  yield,  it  should  be  by  force 
of  reason,  and  never  by  the  power  of  agitation.  Its  measures  should 
be  actuated  by  a  sense  of  what  is  right,  and  not  what  is  expedient, 
for  to  concede  is  to  recede — to  recede  is  to  evince  weakness — nnd  to 
betray  weakness  is  to  invite  attack. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here.  I  do  not  understand  this  new  word.  Con- 
servatism. I  comprehend  the  other  two,  Toryism  and  Liberalism. 
The  one  is  a  monarchical,  and  the  other  a  republican  word.  The 
term.  Conservatism,  I  suppose,  designates  a  party  formed  out  of  the 
moderate  men  of  both  sides,  or  rather,  composed  of  Low-toned  To- 
ries  and  High  Whigs.  I  do  not  like  to  express  a  decided  opinion 
yet,  but  my  first  impression  is  always  adverse  to  mixtures,  for  a  mix- 
ture renders  impure  the  elements  of  which  it  is  compounded.  Every- 
thing will  depend  on  the  preponderance  of  the  wholesome  over  the 
deleterious  ingredients.  I  will  analyse  it  carefully,  see  how  one 
neutralizes  or  improves  the  other,  and  what  the  effect  of  the  com- 
pound is  likely  to  be  on  the  constitution.  I  will  request  our  Ambas- 
sador, Everett,  or  Sam's  friend,  the  Minister  Extraordinary,  Abed- 
nego  Layman,  to  introduce  me  to  Sir  Robert  Peel,  and  will  endeavor 
to  obtain  all  possible  information  from  the  best  possible  source. 

"  On  your  return  I  will  give  you  a  candid  and  deliberate  opinion." 

After  a  silence  of  some  minntes,  during  which  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  in  a  fit  of  abstraction,  he  suddenly  paused,  and  said, 
as  if  thinking  aloud — 

"  Hem,  hem — so  you  are  going  to  cross  the  border,  eh  ?  That 
northern  intellect  is  strong.  Able  men  the  Scotch,  a  little  too  radi- 
cal in  politics,  and  a  litLle  too  illiberal,  as  it  is  called,  in  a  matter  of 
much  greater  consequence ;  but  a  superior  people,  on  the  whole. 
They  will  give  you  a  warm  reception,  will  the  Scotch.  Your  name 
will  ensure  that ;  and  they  are  clannish ;  and  another  warm  recep- 
tion will,  I  assure  you,  await  you  here,  when,  returning;  you  again 
Cross  the  Border." 

M  ■  '■•■• 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    OLD    AND    THE    NEW    WORLD. 

'^  The  first  series  of  this  work  had  scarcely  issued  from  the  press, 
when  I  was  compelled  to  return  to  Nova  Scotia,  on  urgent  private 
affairs.  I  was  fortunately  not  detained  long,  and  arrived  again  at 
Liverpool,  after  an  absence  of  three  months.  To  my  surprise,  I 
found  Mr.  Slick  at  the  Liner's  Hotel.  He  was  evidently  out  of 
spirits,  and  even  the  excitement  of  my  unexpected  return  did  not 


/ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


189 


wholly  dissipate  his  gloom.  My  fears  were  at  first  awakened  for 
the  safety  of  my  excellent  friend  Mr.  Hopewell,  but  I  was  delighted 
to  find  that  he  was  in  good  health,  and  in  no  way  the  cause  of  Mr. 
Slick's  anxiety.  I  pushed  my  inquiries  no  further,  but  left  it  to  him 
to  disclose,  as  I  knew  he  would  in  due  time,  the  source  of  his  grief. 
His  outer  man  was  no  less  changed  than  his  countenance.  He  wore 
a  dress-coat  and  pantaloons,  a  gaudy-figured  silk  waistcoat,  black 
satin  stock,  and  Parisian  hat.  A  large  diamond  brooch  decorated 
his  bosom,  and  a  heavy  gold  chain,  suspended  over  his  waistcoat,  se- 
cured his  watch ;  while  one  of  very  delicate  texture  and  exquisite 
workmanship  supported  an  eye-glass.  To  complete  the  metamor- 
phosis, he  had  cultivated  a  very  military  moustache,  and  an  impe- 
rial of  the  most  approved  size  finished  the  picture.  I  was  astonished 
and  gi-ieved  beyond  measure  to  find  that  three  short  months  had 
effected  such  a  total  change  in  him.  He  had  set  up  for  a  man  of 
fashion,  and  in  his  failure  had  made  himself,  what  he  in  his  happier 
days  would  have  called  "  a  caution  to  sinners."  His  plain,  unpre- 
tending attire,  frank  rough  manners,  and  sound  practical  good  sense, 
had  heretofore  always  disarmed  criticism,  and  rendered  his  peculi- 
arities, if  not  attractive,  at  least  inoffensive  and  amusing,  inasmuch 
as  altogether  they  constituted  a  very  original  and  a  very  striking 
character.  He  had  now  rendered  himself  ridiculous.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  express  the  pain  with  which  I  contemplated  this  awkward, 
over-dressed,  vulgar  caricature;  and  the  difficulty  with  which  I 
recognized  my  old  friend  the  Clockmaker  in  dandy  Slick.  Dress, 
however,  can  be  put  on  or  laid  aside  with  ease,  but  fortunately  a 
man's  train  of  thinking  is  not  so  reac'  ly  changed.  It  was  a  source 
of  great  satisfaction  to  me,  therefore,  lo  find,  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
conven  3,  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  very  great  increase  of  per- 
sonal vanity,  he  was  still  himself.  ^ 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  too.  Squire,"  he  said,  "  it 
railly  makes  me  feel  kinder  all-overish  to  shake  hands  along  with 
you  oncet  more ;  and  won't  Minister  feel  hand-over-foot  in  a  twit- 
teration  when  he  hears  you've  come  back.  Poor  dear  old  critter, 
he  loves  you  like  a  son ;  he  says  you  are  the  only  man  that  has  done 
us  justice,  and  that  though  you  rub  us  pretty  hard  sometimes,  you 
touch  up  the  bbie  noses,  and  the  British,  too,  every  mite  and  mosbel 
as  much,  and  that  it  is  all  done  good-natured,  and  no  spite  or  pre- 
judice in  it  nother.  There  is  no  abuse  in  your  books,  be  says.  Yes, 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,  'cause  now  I  have  got  some  one  to  talk  to, 
that  hus  got  some  sense,  and  can  understand  me,  for  English  don't 
actilly  know  nothin'  out  of  their  own  diggins.  There  is  a  great 
contrast  atween  the  Old  and  the  New  World,  ain't  there  ?  I  was 
talking  to  John  Ru.ss;el  the  other  day  about  it." 

«  Who  is  he  ?"  1  said ;  "  is  he  a  skipper  of  one  of  the  liners  ?" 
«  Lord  love  you^  no ;  he  is  the  great  noble — Lord  Russel — ^the 


uiiwnjw  iwiii 


'IW  W 


190 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


leadin'  Whig  statesman.  It's  only  about  a  week  ago  I  dined  with 
him  to  Norfolk's — ^no,  it  wam't  to  Norfolk's,  it  was  to  Normamby's." 

'<  Is  that  the  way,"  I  again  asked,  "  that  you  speak  of  those  per- 
sons ?" 

"  Isn't  it  the  way  they  speak  to  each  other  ?"  said  he ;  "  doesn't 
Wellington  say,  *  Stanley,  shall  I  take  wine  with  you  ?'  and  if  ihey  do, 
why  shouldn't  I  ?  It  mayn't  be  proper  for  a  common  Britisher  to 
say  so,  because  they  ain't  equal ;  but  it's  proper  for  us,  for  we  arCy 
that's  a  fact ;  and  if  it  wa'n't  boastin',  superior,  too,  (and  look  at 
here,  >vho  are  these  bigs  bugs  now,  and  what  was  they  originally?) 
for  we  have  natur's  nobility.  Lord,  I  wish  you  could  hear  Stever- 
man  talk  of  them  and  their  ceremonies." 

"  Don't  you  follow  Stsverman's  example,  my  good  friend,"  I  said : 
"  he  has  rendered  himself  very  ridiculous  by  assuming  this  familiar 
tone.  It  is  very  bad  taste  to  talk  that  way,  and  no  such  absurd 
ceremony  exists  of  creating  peers,  as  I  understand  he  says  there  is ; 
that  is  a  mere  invention  of  his  to  gratify  democratic  prejudice. 
Speak  of  them  and  to  them  as  you  see  well-bred  people  in  this 
country  do,  neither  pbsequiously  nor  familiarly,  but  in  a  manner 
that  shows  you  respect  both  them  and  yourself." 

<'  Come,  I  like  that  talk,"  said  Mr.  Slick ;  "  I'm  a  candid  man,  I 
am,  indeed,  and  manners  is  a  thing  I  rather  pride  myself  on.  I 
ha'n't  had  no  great  schoolin'  that  way  in  airly  days,  but  movin'  in 
high  life,  as  I  do,  I  want  to  sustain  the  honor  of  our  great  nation 
abroad ;  and  if  there  is  a  wrong  figur',  I'm  for  spitten'  on  the  slate, 
rubbin'  it  out,  and  puttin'  in  a  right  one.  I'll  ask  Minister  what  he 
thinks  of  it,  for  he  is  a  book ;  but  you,  ('xcuse  me,  Squire,  no  offence 
I  hope,  for  I  don't  mean  none,)  but  you  are  nothin'  but  a  colonist, 
you  see,  and  don't  know  everything.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  there  is 
a  nation  sight  of  difference,  too,  ain't  there,  atween  an  old  and  a  new 
country  ?  but  come,  let's  go  into  the  coffee-room  and  sit  down,  and 
talk,  for  sittin'  is  just  as  cheap  as  standin'  in  a  general  way." 

This  spacious  apartment  was  on  the  right  hand  of  the  entrance 
hall,  furnished  and  fitted  in  the  usual  manner.  Immediately  behind 
it  was  the  bar-room,  which  communicated  with  it  in  one  corner  by 
an  open  window,  and  with  the  hall  by  a  similar  aperture.  In  this 
corner,  sat  or  stood  the  bar-maid,  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  and 
communicating  orders. 

"  Look  at  that  gall,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  •'  ain't  she  a  smasher  ?  What 
a  tall,  well-make,  handsome  piece  of  furniture  she  is,  ain't  she  ? 
Look  at  her  hair,  ain't  it  neat  ?  (  nd  her  clothes  fit  so  well,  and  are 
so  nice,  and  her  cap  so  white,  and  her  complexion  so  clear,  and  she 
looks  so  good-natured,  and  smiles  so  sweet,  it  does  one  good  to  look 
at  her.  She  is  a  whole  team  and  a  horse  to  spare,  that  gall — that's 
a  fact.  I  go  and  call  for  two  or  three  glasses  of  brandy-cocktail 
more  than  I  want  every  day,  just  for  the  sake  of  talking  to  her.     She 


,: 


SAM  SLICK  117  ENOLAND. 


191 


always  says,  *  What  will  you  be  pleased  to  have,  Sir  ?'  '  Somethin*,* 
says  I,  '  that  I  can't  have,*  lookin*  at  her  pretty  mouth  about  the 
wickedest ;  well,  she  laughs,  for  she  knows  what  I  mean ;  and  says, 
*  P'r'aps  you  will  have  a  glass  of  bitters,  Sir?'  and  she  goes  and  gets 
it.  Well,  this  goes  ou  three  or  four  times  a  day,  every  time  the 
identical  same  tune,  only  with  variations. 

''  About  an  hour  afore  you  came  in,  I  was  there  agin.  '  What 
will  you  be  pleased  to  have,  Sir  ?*  says  she  agin,  laughin'.  Some- 
thin'  I  can't  get,'  sais  I,  a  laughin',  too,  and  a  smackin'  of  my  lips 
and  a  lettin'  off  sparks  from  my  eyes  like  a  blacksmith's  chimney. 
'  You  can't  tell  that  till  you  try,'  bays  she ;  *  but  you  can  have  your 
bitters,  at  any  rate,'  and  she  drawed  a  glass  and  gave  it  to  me.  It 
tan'te  so  bad  that,  is  it  ?  Well,  now  she  has  seed  you  before,  and 
knows  you  very  well ;  go  to  her,  and  see  how  nicely  she  will  court- 
shy,  how  pretty  she  will  smile,  and  how  lady-like  she  will  say,  *  How 
do  you  do,  Sir  ?  I  hope  you  are  quite  well.  Sir ;  have  you  just  ar- 
rived?— Here,  chambermaid,  show  this  gentleman  to  No.  200. — 
Sorry,  Sir,  we  are  so  full,  but  to-morrow  we  will  move  you  into  a 
better  room. — Thomas,  take  up  this  gentleman's  luggage ;'  and  then 
she'd  courtshy  agin,  and  smile  hansome.  Don't  that  look  -well  now? 
do  you  want  anything  better  nor  that,  eh  ?  if  you  do,  you  are  hard  to 
please,  that's  tdl.  But  stop  a  bit,  don't  be  in  such  an  everlastin' 
almighty  hurry ;  think  afore  you  speak  ;  go  there  agin — set  her  a 
smilin'  once  more,  and  look  close.  It's  only  skin  deep — -just  on  the 
surface,  like  a  cat's  paw  on  the  water,  it's  nothin'  but  a  rimple  like, 
and  no  more ;  then,  look  closer  still,  and  you  will  deseam  the  color 
of  it. 

"  I  see  you  laugh  at  the  color  of  a  smile,  but  still  watch  and  you'll 
see  it.  Look  now,  don't  you  see  the  color  of  the  shilling  there,  it's 
white,  and  cold,  and  silvery, — ifs  a  bovght  smile,  and  a  bought  smile, 
like  an  artifieial  flov.i t,  has  no  sweetness  in  it.  There  is  no  natur — 
it's  a  cheat — it's  a  pretty  cheat — it  don't  ryle  you  none,  but  still  it's 
a  cheat.  It's  like  whipt  cream ;  open  your  mouth  wide,  take  it  all 
in,  and  shut  your  lips  down  on  it  tight,  and  it's  nothin' — it's  only  a 
mouthful  of  moonshine ;  yes,  it's  a  pretty  cheat,  that's  a  fact.  This 
ain't  confined  to  the  women  nother.  Petticoats  have  smiles  and 
courtshys,  and  the  trowsers  bows  and  scrapes,  and  my-lords  for  you, 
there  ain't  no  great  difference  that  way  ?  so,  send  for  the  landlord. 
'  Lardner,'  says  you, '  Sir,*  says  he,  and  he  makes  you  a  cold,  low, 
deep,  formal  bow,  as  much  as  to  say, '  Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  sarvent 
is  a  dog.'  *  I  want  to  go  to  church  to-morrow,'  says  you ; '  what 
church  do  you  recommend?'  Well,  he  eyes  you  all  over,  careful, 
afore  he  answers,  so  as  not  to  back  up  a  wrong  tree.  He  sees  you 
are  from  t'other  side  of  the  water ;  he  guesses,  therefore,  you  can't 
be  a  churchman,  and  must  be  a  radical :  and  them  that  calculate 
that  way  miss  a  iigure  as  often  as  not,  I  can  tell  you.     So,  he  takes 


mm 


192 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


his  cue  to  please  you.  <  St.  Luke's,  Sir,  is  a  fine  church,  and  plenty 
of  room,  for  there  ain't  no  congregation ;  M'Neil's  church  has  no 
congregation  nother,  in  a  manner;  you  can  only  call  it  a  well- 
dressed  mob, — but  it  has  no  room ;  for  folks  go  there  to  hear  poli- 
tics.* '  Why,  what  is  he  ?'  says  you.  '  Oh,  a  churchman,'  says  he, 
with  a  long  face  as  if  he  was  the  devil.  *  No,'  says  you, '  I  don't 
mean  that ;  but  what  is  his  politics  ?'  *  Oh,  Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
violent — '  *  Yes ;  but  what  are  they  ?'  *  Oh,'  says  he,  lookin*  awful 
shocked,  *  Tory,  Sir,'  •  Oh,  then,'  says  you, '  he's  just  the  boy  that 
will  suit  me,  for  I  am  Tory,  too,  to  the  back-bone.'  Lardner  seems 
whamble-cropt,  scratches  his  head,  looks  as  if  he  was  delivered  of  a 
mistake,  bows,  and  walks  off,  a  sayin*  to  himself,  '  Well,  if  that  don't 
pass,  I  swear;  who'd  a  thought  that  cursed  long-backed,  long-necked, 
punkin-headed  colonist  was  a  Churchman  and  a  Tory  ?  The  ugly 
devil  is  worse  than  he  looks,  d — n  him.' 

^  "  Arter  takin'  these  two  samples  out  of  the  bulk,  now  go  to  Hali- 
fax, Nova  Scotia,  and  streak  it  off  to  Windsor,  hot  foot.  First  stage 
is  Bedford  Basin.  Poor,  dear  old  Mann  Bedford,  the  moment  she 
sets  eyes  on  you,  is  out  to  meet  you  in  less  tl:an  half  no  time.  Oh, 
look  at  the  color  of  that  smile.  It's  a  good  wholesome  reddish-color, 
fresh  and  warm  from  the  heart,  and  it's  more  than  skin-deep,  too, 
for  there  is  a  laugh  walking  arm-in-arm  with  it,  lock  and  lock,  that 
fetches  her  sides  up  with  a  hitch  at  every  jolt  of  it.  Then  that  hand 
ain't  a  ghost's  hand,  I  can  tell  you,  it's  good  solid  flesh  and  blood, 
and  it  gives  you  a  shake  that  says,  '  I'm  in  rail,  right  down  airnest.' 
*  Oh,  Squire,  is  that  you? — well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you;  you  are  wel- 
come home  agin  : — we  was  most  afeered  you  was  goin'  to  leave  us ; 
folks  made  so  much  of  you  t'other  side  of  the  water.  Well,  travellin* 
agrees  with  you — it  does,  indeed — ^you  look  quite  hearty  agin.' 

" '  But,  come,'  says  you, '  sit  down,  my  old  friend,  and  tell  me  the 
news,  for  I  have  seen  nobody  yet ;  I  only  landed  two  hours  ago. 

•^*  Well,'  she'll  say,  *  the  Admiral's  daughter's  married,  and  the  Com- 
missioner's daughter  is  married ;'  and  then,  shuttin'  the  door,  ^  they 
do  say  Miss  A.  is  to  be  married  to  Colonel  B.,  and  the  widow  X.  to 
lawyer  V.,  but  I  don't  believe  the  last,  for  she  is  too  good  for  him : 
he's  a  low,  radical  fellow,  that,  and  she  has  too  much  good  sense  to 
take  such  a  creature  as  him.' ^' What  bishop  was  that  I  saw  here, 
just  now  ?'  says  you.  '  A  Westindgy  bishop,'  sais  she ; '  he  left  half- 
an-hour  ago,  with  a  pair  of  bosses,  two  servants,  three  pounds  of 
butter,  a  dozen  of  fresh  eggs,  and  a  basket  of  blue  berries.*  But 
Miss  M.,  what  do  you  think.  Squire  ?  she  has  given  Captain  Tufthunt 
the  mitten,  she  has,  indeed,  upon  my  word ! — fact,  I  assure  you.* 

■^  Ain't  it  curious.  Squire,  weddin's  is  never  out  of  women's  heads. 
They  never  think  of  nothin'  else.  A  young  gall  is  alwais  thinkin' 
ot  her  own ;  as  soon  as  she  is  married,  she  is  a  match  jjtiakin'  for 
her  companions,  and  when  she  is,  a  little  grain  older,  her  darter's 


mm 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


193 


weddin'  is  uppermost  agin.  Oh,  it  takes  great  study  to  know  a 
woman, — how  cunnin'  they  are !  Ask  a  young  gall  all  the  news, 
she'll  tell  you  of  all  the  deaths  in  the  place,  to  make  you  think  she 
don't  trouble  herself  about  marriages.  Ask  an  old  woman,  she'll 
tell  you  of  all  the  marriages,  to  make  you  think  she  is  takin'  an 
interest  in  the  world  that  she  ain't.  They  sartainly  do  beat  all,  do 
women.  Well,  then,  Marm  will  jump  up  all  of  a  sudden,  and  say, 
*  But,  dear  me,  while  I  am  a  sitten'  here  a  talkin',  there  is  no  orders 
for  your  lunch ;  what  will  you  have.  Squire?'/  'What  you  can't  get 
anywhere  in  firs^  chop  style,'  says  you,  ♦  but  in  Nova  Scotia,  and 
never  here  in  perfection,  but  at  your  house — a  broiled  chicken  and 
blue-nose  potatos.*  y  Ah !'  says  she,  puttin'  up  her  finger,  and  lookin' 
arch,  *  now,  you  are  makin'  fun  of  us,  Squire?*  /'Upon  my  soul  I 
am  not,'  says  you,  and  you  may  safely  swear  to  that,  too,  I  can  tell 
you ;  for  that  house  has  a  broiled  chicken  and  a  potato  for  a  man 
that's  in  a'  hurry  to  move  on,  that  may  stump  the  world.  Well, 
then,  you'll  light  a  cigar,  and  stroll  out  to  look  about  the  location, 
for  you  know  every  tree,  and  stone,  and  brook,  and  hill,  about  there, 
as  well  as  you  know  beans,  and  they  will  talk  to  the  heart  as  plain 
.as  if  they  was  gifled  with  gab.  Oh,  home  is  home,  however  homely, 
I  can  tell  you.  /And  as  you  go  out,  you  see  faces  in  the  bar-room 
you  know,  and  it's,  *  Oh,  Squire,  how  are  you  ? — Welcome  home 
agin, — glad  to  see  you  once  more ;  how  have  you  had  your  health  in 
a  general  way  ?  Saw  your  folks  driven  out  yesterday — they  are  all 
well  to  home.* 

"  They  don't  take  their  hats  off,  them  chaps,  for  they  ain't  depen- 
dants, like  tenants  here :  most  of  them  farmers  are  as  well  off  as 
you  be,  and  some  on  *em  better ;  but  they  jist  up  and  give  you  a 
sliake  of  the  daddle,  and  ain't  a  bit  the  less  pleased ;  your  books 
have  made  'em  better  known,  1  can  tell  you.  They  are  kinder 
proud  of  'er-,  ihat's  a  fact.  Then  the  moment  your  back  is  turned, 
what's  their  talk  ? — why  it's  *  Well,  it's  kinder  nateral  to  see  him 
back  here  again  among  us,  ain't  it  ?  He  is  lookin'  well,  but  he  is 
broken  a  good  deal,  too;  he  don't  look  so  cheerful  as  he  used  to  did, 
and  don't  you  mind,  as  he  grows  older,  he  looks  more  like  his  fa- 
ther, too  ?*  *  I've  heered  a  good  many  people  remark  it,'  says  they. 
'  Where  on  airth,'  says  one,  '  did  he  get  all  them  queer  stories  he 
has  sot  down  in  his  books,  and  them  Yankee  words— -don't  it  beat  all 
natur  ?'  /*  Get  tliem,'  says  another  ;  '  why,  he  is  a  sociable  kind  of 
man,  and  as  he  travels  round  the  circuits,  he  Itappens  on  a  purpose, 
accidentally  like,  with  folks,  and  sets  *em  a  talkin*,  or  makes  an  ex- 
cuse to  light  a  cigar,  ^oes  in,  sets  down  and  hears  all  and  sees  all. 
I  mind,  I  drove  him  to  Liverpool,  to  court  there  oncet,  and  on  our 
way  we  stopt  at  Sawaway  village.  Well,  I  stays  out  to  mind  the 
horse,  and  what  does  he  do  but  goes  in,  and  scrapes  acquaintance 
with  Marm — ^for  if  there  is  a  man  and  a  woman  in  the  room,  petti- 

9 


194 


THE  ATTAOHt;   OR, 


coats  is  sartain  to  carry  the  day  with  him.  Well,  when  I  come 
back,  there  was  him  and  Marm  a  standin'  up  by  the  mantel-piece, 
as  thick  as  two  thieves,  a  ch^lttin'  away  as  if  they  had  knowed  each 
other  for  ever  a'most.  When  she  come  out,  says  she,  *  Who  on  airth 
is  that  man?  he  is  the  most  sociable  man  I  ever  seed/  /'"That?'  says 
I.  *  Why,  it's  Lawyer  Poker.  /'  Poker  1'  says  she,  in  great  fright, 
and  a  rasin'  of  her  voice  ;  '  which  Poker  ?  for  there  is  two  of  that 
name— one  that  lives  to  Halifax,  and  one  that  lives  to  Windsor ; 
which  is  it  ?'  says  she ;  '  tell  me,  this  minnit.'  / '  Why/  says  I,  *  him 
that  wrote  the  "  Clockmaker."  *  /*  What,  Sam  Slick  ?'  says  she,  and 
she  screamed  out  at  the  tip  eend  of  her  tongue,  *  Ob,  my  goodies  ! 
if  I  had  knowed  that,  I  wouldn't  have  gone  into  the  room  on  no  ac- 
count. They  say,  though  be  appeal's  to  take  no  notice,  nothin'  never 
escapes  him  ;  he  hears  everything,  and  sees  everything,  and  has  his 
eye  in  every  cubbey-hole.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  here  I  am  with  the  oldest 
gownd  on  I  have,  with  two  buttons  off  behind,  and  my  hair  not  curled, 
and  me  a  talkin'  away  as  if  he  was  only  a  common  man  1  It  will 
be  all  down  in  the  next  book,  see  if  it  ain't.  Lord  love  yoU;  what 
made  you  bring  him  here, — I  am  frightened  to  death;  oh,  dear!  oh, 
dear !  only  think  of  this  old  gownd  !  That's  the  way  be  gets  them 
stories,  he  gets  them  in  travellin'.* 

"  Oh,  Squire,  there's  a  vast  difference  atween  a  thick  peopled  and 
a  thin  peopled  country.  Here  you  may  go  in  and  out  of  a  bar-room 
or  coffee-room  a  thousand  times,  and  no  one  will  even  ax  who 
you  are.  They  don't  know,  and  they  don't  want  to  know.  Well, 
then,  Squire,  just  as  you  are  a  leaven'  of  Bedford-house  to  progress 
to  Windsor,  out  runs  black  Jim,  (you  recollect  Jim  that  has  been 
there  so  long,  don't  you  ?)  a  grinnin'  from  ear  to  ear  like  a  catamount, 
and  opens  carriage-door.  '  Grad  to  see  you  back,  massa ;  miss  you 
a  travellin'  shocking  bad,  sar.  I  like  your  society  werry  much — ^you 
werry  good  company,  sar.'  /You  give  him  a  look  as  much  as  to  say, 
*  What  do  you  mean,  you  black  rascal  ?'  and  then  laugh,  'cause  you 
know  he  tried  to  be  civil,  and  you  give  him  a  shilling,  and  then  Jim 
shows  you  two  rows  of  ivory,  such  as  they  never  seed  in  this  coun- 
try, in  all  their  born  days.  Oh,  yes,  smile  for  smile,  heart  for  heart, 
kindness  for  kindness,  welcome  for  welcome — give  me  old  Nova 
Scotia  yet ; — there  ain't  nothin  like  it  here.' j^ 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  observations  of  Mr.  Slick,  but  at 
the  same  time  they  are  not  free  from  error.  Strangers  can  never 
expect  to  be  received  in  any  country  with  the  same  cordiality 
friends  and  old  patrons  are ;  and  even  where  the  disposition 
exists,  if  crowds  travel,  there  is  but  little  tipue  that  can  be  spared 
for  congratulations.  In  the  main,  however,  the  contrast  he  has 
drawn  is  correct,  and  every  colonist,  at  least,  must  feci  that  this 
sort  of  civility  is  more  sincere  and  less  mercenary  in  the  I^ew 
than  in  the  Old  World. 


. 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


196 


► 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE    BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

"While  strolling  about  the  neighborhood  of  the  town  this  aAer- 
noon,  we  passed  what  Colonel  Slick  would  have  called  "  several 
little  detachments  of  young  ladies/'  belonging  to  a  boarding-school, 
each  detachment  having  at  its  head  an  officer  of  the  establishment. 
Youth,  innocence,  and  beauty,  have  always  great  attractions  for  me ; 
tl  like  young  people,  I  delight  in  talking  to  them.  There  is  a  joy- 
ousness  and  buoyancy  about  them,  and  they  are  so  full  of  life  and 
hope,  it  revives  my  drooping  spirits,  it  awakens  agreeable  recol- 
lections, and  makes  me  feel,  for  the  time,  at  least,  that  I  am 
young  myself.  "  Look  at  those  beautiful  creatures !"  I  said, 
**  Mr.  Slick.  They  seem  as  happy  as  birds  just  escaped  from  a 
cage." 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "And  what  a  cussed  shame  it  is  to  put  'em  into 
a  cage  at  all  I  In  the  West  Indgies,  in  old  times,  every  plantation 
had  a  cage  for  the  little  niggers,  a  great  large  enormous  room,  and 
all  the  little  darkies  was  put  in  there  and  spoon-fed  with  meal- 
vittals  by  some  old  granny,  and  they  were  as  fat  as  chickens  and  as 
lively  as  crickets,  (you  never  see  such  happy  little  imps  of  darkness 
since  you  was  bom,)  and  their  mothers  was  sent  oft'  to  the  fields  to 
work.  It  saved  labor  and  saved  time,  and  labor  and  time  is  money, 
and  it  wam't  a  bad  contrivance.  Well,  old  Bunton,  Joe  Sturge, 
and  such  sort  of  cattle  of  the  Abolition  breed,  when  they  heerd  of 
this,  went  a  roarin'  and  a  bellowin'  about  all  over  England,  like 
cows  that  had  lost  their  calves,  about  the  horrid  cruelty  of  these  nig- 
ger coops. 

"  Now,  these  boardin'-schools  for  galls  here  is  a  hundred  thousand 
times  wuss  than  the  nigger  nurseries  was.  Mothers  send  their  chil- 
dren here  cause  they  are  too  lazy  to  tend  'em,  or  too  ignorant  to 
teach  'em  themselves,  or  'cause  they  want  *em  out  o'  the  way  that 
they  may  go  into  company,  and  not  be  kept  to  home  by  kickin*, 
squeelin',  gabblin'  t)rats;  and  what  do  they  lam  here?  why,  nothin' 
that  they  had  ought  to,  and  everything  that  they  had  ought  not  to. 
They  don't  love  their  parents,  'cause  they  hante  got  that  care,  and 
that  fondlin',  and  protection,  and  that  habit  that  breeds  love.  Love 
won't  grow  in  cold  ground,  I  can  teU  you.    It  must  be  sheltered 


M 


^^m^fifmmw 


196 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


from  the  frost,  and  protected  from  the  storm,  and  watered  with 
tears,  and  warmed  with  the  heat  of  the  heart,  and  the  soil  be  kept 
free  from  weeds ;  and  it  must  have  support  to  lean  on,  and  be  tended 
with  care  day  and  night,  or  it  pines,  grows  yaller,  fades  away,  and 
dies.  It's  a  tender  plant,  is  love,  or  else  I  don't  know  human  natur, 
that's  all.  Well,  the  parents  don't  love  them  nother.  Mothers  can 
get  weaned  as  well  as  babies.  The  same  causes  a'most  makes  folks 
love  their  children,  that  makes  their  children  love  them.  Whoever 
liked  another  man's  flower-garden  as  well  as  his  own  ?  Did  you 
ever  see  one  that  did?  for  I  never  did.  He  haint  tended  it,  he  haint 
watched  its  growth,  he  haint  seed  the  flowers  bud,  unfold,  and  bloom. 
They  haint  growd  up  under  his  eye  and  hand,  he  haint  attached  to 
them,  and  dovHt  care  who  plucks  'em. 

"  And  then,  who  can  teach  religion  but  a  mother  ?  Religion  is  a 
thing  of  the  affections.  Lord!  parsons  may  preach,  and  clerks  may 
make  'sponscs  for  ever,  but  they  won't  reach  the  little  heart  of  a  little 
child.  All  /  got,  I  got  from  mother,  for  father  was  so  almighty  im- 
patient ;  if  I  made  the  Icastest  mistake  in  the  world  in  readin'  the 
Bible,  he  used  to  fall  to  and  swear  like  a  trooper,  and  that  spiled 
all.  Minister  was  always  kind  and  gentle,  but  he  was  old,  and  old 
age  seems  so  far  off  from  a  child,  that  it  listens  with  awe,  scary 
like,  and  runs  away  screamin'  with  delight  as  soon  as  it's  over,  and 
forgets  all.  Oh !  it's  an  onnateral  thing  to  tear  a  poor  little  gall 
away  from  home,  and  from  all  she  knows  and  loves,  and  shove  her 
into  a  house  of  strangers,  and  race  off  and  leave  her.  Oh !  what 
a  sight  of  little  chords  it  must  stretch,  so  that  they  are  never  no 
good  arterwards,  or  else  snap  *em  right  short  off.  How  it  must 
harden  the  heart  and  tread  down  all  the  young  sproutin'  feelin's,  so 
that  they  can  never  grow  up  and  ripen  ! 

"  Why,  a  gall  ought  to  be  nothin  but  a  lump  of  affection,  as  a 
Mother  Carey's  chicken  is  nothin'  but  a  lump  of  fat ;  not  that  she 
has  to  love  so  much,  but  to  endure  so  much ;  not  that  she  has  to  bill 
and  coo  all  day,  for  they  plaguy  soon  get  tired  of  that ;  but  that  she 
has  to  give  up  time  and  give  up  inclination,  and  alter  her  likes  and 
alter  her  dislikes,  and  do  every  thin'  and  bear  every  thin',  and  all  for 
affection.  She  ought  to  love,  so  that  duty  is  a  pleasure, /or  where 
there  is  no  love  there  will  be  no  duty  done  right.  You  wouldn't  hear 
of  so  many  runaway  matches  if  it  warn't  ibr  them  cussed  boardin'- 
schools,  I  know.  A  young  chap  sees  one  of  these  angeliferous  galls 
a  goin'  a  walkin',  and  inquires  who  she  is  and  what  she  is.  He 
hears  she  has  a  great  forten',  and  he  knows  she  has  great  beauty — 
splendid  gall  she  is,  too.  She  has  been  taught  to  stand  straight  and 
walk-straight,  like  a  drill-sarjeant.  She  knows  how  to  get  into  a 
carriage  and  show  no  legs,  and  to  get  out  o'  one  as  much  onlike  a 
bear  and  as  much  like  a  lady  as  possible,  never  starn  fust,  but  like  a 
diver,  head  fust.    She  can  stand  in  fust,  second,  or  third  position  to 


♦ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


197 


♦ 


church,  and  hold  her  book  and  her  elbous  graceful — very  important 
church  lessons  them  too,  much  more  than  the  lessons  parsons  reads. 
Then  she  knows  a  little  tiny  prayer-book  makes  a  big  hand  look 
hugeaceous,  and  a  big  one  makes  it  look  small ;  and,  besides,  she 
knows  all  about  smiles,  the  smile  to  set  with  or  walk  with,  the  smile 
to  talk  with,  the  smile  o'  surprise,  the  smile  scomey,  and  the  smile 
piteous.  She  is  a  most  accomplished  gall,  that's  a  fact,  how  can  it 
be  otherwise  in  natur?  Aint  she  at  a  female  seminary,  where, 
though  the  mistress  don't  know  nothin',  she  can  teach  everythin', 
'cause  it's  a  fashionable  school,  and  very  aristocratic  and  very  dear. 
It  must  be  good,  it  costs  so  much ;  and  you  can't  get  nothin'  good 
without  a  good  price,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Well,  forten'-hunter  watches  and  watches  till  he  attracts  atten- 
tion, and  the  moment  she  looks  at  him  his  eye  tells  her  he  loves  her. 
Creation,  man !  you  might  as  well  walk  over  a  desert  of  gunpowder, 
shod  with  steel  soles  and  flint  heels,  as  to  tell  that  to  a  gall  for  the 
fust  time,  whose  heart  her  school-mistress  and  her  mother  had  both 
made  her  feel  was  empty,  and  that  all  her  education  went  to  write 
on  a  paper  and  put  in  its  window  <  Lodgin's  to  let  here  for  a  single 
man.'  She  is  all  in  a  conflustugation  in  a  minute — a  lover ! — a  real 
lover  too,  not  a  school-boy,  but  an  elegant  young  man,  just  such  a 
one  as  she  had  heerd  tell  of  in  novels.  How  romantic,  ain't  it  ?  and 
yet.  Squire,  how  nateral  too,  for  this  poor  desarted  gall  to  think  like 
a  fool  fust,  and  act  like  a  fool  arterwards,  ain't  it  ?  She  knows  she 
warn't  made  to  grow  alone,  and  that  like  a  vine  she  ought  to  have 
sunthin'  to  twine  round  for  support ;  and  when  she  sees  this  man,  the 
little  tendrils  of  her  heart  incline  right  that  way  at  oncet. 

"  But  then  love  never  runs  smooth.  How  in  the  world  are  they 
ever  to  meet,  seein'  that  there  is  a  great  high  brick  wall  atween 
them,  and  she  is  shot  up  most  o'  the  time  ?  Ah  I  there  is  the  rub. 
Do  you  know,  dear  ?  There  is  but  one  safe  way,  loveliest  of  women, 
only  one, — run  away.  Run  away !  that's  an  awful  word,  it  fright- 
ens her  most  to  death ;  she  goes  right  off  to  bed  and  cries  like  any- 
thing, and  that  clears  her  head  and  she  thinks  it  all  over,  for  it  won't 
do  to  take  such  a  step  as  that  without  considerin',  will  it  ?  '  Let  me 
see,'  says  she,  *  suppose  I  do  go,  what  do  I  leave  ?  A  cold,  formal, 
perlite  mistress,  horrid  pitikelar,  and  horrid  vexed  when  men  admire 
her  boarders  more  than  her ;  a  taunten'  or  a  todyin'  assistant,  and  a 
whole  regiment  of  dancin'  masters,  music  masters,  and  French  mas- 
ters. Lessons,  lessons,  lessons,  all  for  the  head  and  nothin'  for  the 
heart ;  hard  work  and  a  prison-house,  with  nothin'  to  see  but  feller 
prisoners  a  pinin'  through  the  bars  like  me.  And  what  do  I  run 
for  ?  Why,  an  ardent,  passionate,  red-hot  lover,  that  is  to  love  me 
all  my  life,  and  more  and  more  every  day  of  my  life,  and  who  will 
shoot  himself  or  drown  himself  if  I  don't,  for  he  can't  live  without 
me,  and  who  has  glorious  plans  of  happiness,  and  is  sure  of  success 


■I  ■ « ■■  mj^^^mmnww  ^^  •  pi 


198 


THE  ATTACn^;   OR, 


in  the  world,  and  all  that  It  taint  racin'  off  from  father  and  mother 
Dothcr,  for  they  ain't  here ;  an'  besides,  I  am  sure  and  sartuin  they 
will  be  reconciled  in  a  minute,  when  they  hear  what  a  splendid  match 
I  have  made,  and  what  a  dear  beautiful  man  I  have  married.'  It 
ia  done. 

'*  Ah !  where  was  old  marm  then,  that  the  little  thing  could  have 
raced  back  and  nestled  in  her  bosom,  and  throw'd  her  arms  round 
her  neck,  and  put  her  face  away  back  to  her  ears  to  hide  her 
blushes  ?  and  say  '  dear  ma',  I  am  in  love ;'  and  that  she  agin  could 
press  her  up  to  her  heart,  and  kiss  her,  and  cry  with  her,  and  kind 
o'  give  way  at  fust,  so  as  not  to  snub  her  too  short  at  oncet,  for  fear 
of  rearin',  or  kickin',  or  backin',  or  sulkin',  but  gentle,  little  by  little, 
jist  by  degrees  get  her  all  right  agin.  Oh !  where  was  mother's  eye 
when  fortin'-hunter  was  a  scalin'  the  brick-wall,  that  it  might  see  the 
hawk  that  was  a  threatenin'  of  her  chicken ;  and  where  was  old 
father  with  his  gun  to  scare  him  off,  or  to  wing  him  so  he  could  do 
no  harm  ?  Why,  mother  was  a  dancin'  at  Almack's,  and  father  was 
a  huntin' ;  then  it  sarves  'em  right,  the  poacher  had  been  into  the 
presarve  and  snared  the  bird,  and  I  don't  pity  'cm  one  mossel. 

"  Well,  time  runs  away  as  well  as  lovers.  In  nine  days  puppies 
and  bridegrooms  begin  to  get  their  eyes  open  in  a  general  way.  It 
taint  so  easy  for  brides,  they  are  longer  about  it ;  but  they  do  see  at 
last,  and  when  they  do,  it's  about  the  clearest.  So,  one  fine  day, 
poor  little  miss  begins  to  open  her  peepers,  and  the  fust  thing  she 
disarns  is  a  tired,  lyin'  lover — promises  broke  that  never  was  meant 
to  be  kept, — hopes  as  false  as  vows,  and  a  mess  of  her  own  makin', 
that's  pretty  considerable  tarnation  all  over.  Oh  I  how  she  sobs,  and 
cries,  and  guesses  she  was  wrong,  and  repents ;  and  then  she  writes 
home,  and  begs  pardon,  and,  child-like,  says  she  will  never  do  so 
again.  Poor  crittur,  it's  one  o'  them  kind  o'  things  that  can't  be 
done  agin — oncet  done,  done  for  ever ;  yes,  she  begs  pardon,  but 
father  won't  forgive,  for  he  has  been  larfed  at ;  mother  won't  forgive, 
'cause  she  has  to  forgive  herself  fust,  and  that  she  can't  do ;  and  both 
won't  forgive,  for  it's  settin'  a  bad  example.  All  doors  behind  the 
poor  little  wretch  are  closed,  and  there  is  but  one  open  before  her, 
and  that  looks  into  a  churchyard.  They  are  nice  little  places  to 
stroll  in,  is  buryin'-grounds,  when  you  ain't  nothiu'  to  do  but  read 
varses  on  tomb-stones ;  but  it  taint  every  one  likes  to  go  there  to 
Bleep  with  the  silent  folks  that's  onder  ground,  I  can  tell  you.  It 
looks  plaguy  like  her  home  that's  prepared  for  her  though,  for  there 
is  a  little  spot  on  the  cheek,  and  a  little  pain  in  the  side,  and  a  little 
hackin'  cough,  and  an  eye  sometimes  watery,  and  sometimes  hectic 
bright,  and  the  sperits  is  all  gone.  Well,  I've  seed  them  signs  so 
often,  I  know  as  well  what  follows,  as  if  it  was  rain  arter  three  white 
frosts,  melancholy— consumption — a  broken  heart,  and  the  grave. — 
^his  is  the  fruit  of  a  hoardin' -school;  heaviiful  frfjitf  ain't  itf    It 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


199 


\ 


ripened  afore  itt  time,  and  dropt  off  the  tree  airly.  The  core  wot 
eaten  hy  a  worm,  and  thai  worm  was  bred  in  a  boarding-school. 

*'  Lord,  what  a  world  this  is  1  We  have  to  think  in  harness  as 
well  as  draw  in  harness.  We  talk  of  this  government  being  free, 
and  that  gorernmcnt  being  free,  but  fashion  makes  slaves  of  us  all. 
If  we  don't  obejr  we  ain't  civilized.  You  must  think  with  the  world, 
or  go  out  of  the  world.  Now,  in  the  high  life  I've  been  movin  in 
lately,  we  must  swear  by  Shakspeare  whether  we  have  a  taste  for 
plays  or  not, — swaller  it  in  a  lump,  like  a  bolus,  obscene  parts  and 
ull,  or  we  have  no  soul.  We  must  go  into  fits  if  Milton  is  spoke  of, 
though  we  can't  read  it  if  we  was  to  die  for  it,  or  we  have  no  tastes ; 
euch  is  high  life,  and  high  life  governs  lo^  life. 

"  Every  Englishman  and  every  American  that  goes  to  the  Con- 
tinent must  admire  Paris,  its  tawdry  theatres,  its  nasty  filthy  parks, 
its  rude  people,  its  cheaten'  tradesmen ;  its  horrid  formal  parlies,  \i& 
affected  politicians,  its  bomhastical  braggin'  officers  and  all.  If  they 
don't  they  are  vulgar  wrelcues  that  don't  know  nothin',  and  can't  tell 
a  fricaseed  cat  from  a  stewed  frog.  Let  'em  travel  on  and  they 
darsn't  say  what  they  think  of  them  horrid,  stupid,  oncomfortable, 
gamblin'  Garman  waterin'-places  nother.  Oh,  no  1  fashion  says  you 
can't. 

"  It's  just  so  with  these  cussed  boardin'-schools ;  you  must  swear 
by  'em,  or  folks  will  open  their  eyes  and  say, '  Where  was  you  raird, 
young  man  ?  Does  your  mother  know  you  are  out  ?'  Oh,  dear  I 
how  many  gals  they  have  ruined,  how  many  folks  they  have  fooled, 
and  how  many  families  they  have  capsised,  so  they  never  was  righted 
agin.  It  tante  no  easy  matter,  I  can  tell  you,  for  folks  of  small  for- 
ten  to  rig  a  gall  out  ibr  one  o'  these  seminai'ies  that  have  the  sign 
*  man-traps  set  here,*  stuck  over  the  door.  It  costs  a  considerable 
of  a  sum,  which  in  middlin'  life  is  a  little  forten  like.  Well,  half 
the  time  a  gall  is  allowed  to  run  wild  'till  she  is  fourteen  years  old, 
or  thereabouts,  browsin'  here  and  browsin'  there,  and  jumpln'  out  of 
this  pastur'  into  that  pastur'  like  mad.  Then  she  is  run  down  and 
catched :  a  bearin'  rein  put  on  her  to  make  her  carry  up  her  head 
well ;  a  large  bit  put  atween  her  teeth  to  give  her  a  good  mouth,  a 
cersingle  belt  strapt  tight  round  her  waist  to  give  her  a  good  figur*, 
and  a  dancin'-master  hired  to  give  her  her  paces,  and  off  she  is  sent 
to  a  boardin'-school  to  get  the  finishin'  touch.  There  she  is  kept  for 
three,  or  four,  or  five  years,  as  the  case  may  be,  till  she  has  larnt 
what  she  ought  to  hav«  knowed  at  ten.  Her  edication  is  then  slicked 
off  complete ;  a  manty-maker  gets  her  up  well,  and  she  is  sent  back 
to  home  with  the  Tower  stamp  on  her,  *  edicated  at  a  boardin'-schooL' 
She  astonishes  the  natives  round  about  where  the  old  folks  live,  and 
makes  'em  stare  agin,  she  is  so  improved.  She  plays  beautiful  on 
the  piano,  two  pieces,  they  were  crack  pieces,  larned  onder  the  eye 
and  ear  of  the  master ;  but  there  is  a  secret  nobody  knows  but  her, 


200 


THE  attache;  or, 


;i    ! 


she  can't  play  nothin*  else.  She  sings  two  or  three  songs,  the  last 
lessons  larnt  to  school,  and  the  last  she  ever  will  lam.  She  has  two 
or  three  beautiful  drawin's,  but  there  is  a  secret  here,  too ;  the  mas- 
ter finished  'em  and  she  can't  do  another.  She  speaks  French  beau- 
tiful, but  it's  fortunate  she  aint  in  France  now,  so  that  secret  is  safe. 
She  is  a  very  agreeable  gal,  and  talks  very  pleasantly,  for  she  has 
seen  the  world. 

"  She  was  to  London  for  a  few  weeks ;  saw  the  last  play,  and 
knows  a  great  deal  about  the  theatre.  She  has  been  to  the  opera 
oncet,  and  has  seen  Celeste  and  Fanny  Estler,  and  heard  La  Blache 
and  Grisi,  and  is  a  judge  of  dancin'  and  singin'.  She  saw  the  Queen 
a  horseback  in  the  Park,  and  is  a  judge  of  ridin' ;  and  was  at  a 
party  at  Lady  Syllabub's,  and  knows  London  life.  This  varnish 
lasts  a  whole  year.  The  two  new  pieces  wear  out,  and  the  songs 
get  old,  and  the  drawin's  everybody  has  seed,  and  the  London 
millinery  wants  renewin',  and  the  Queen  has  another  Princess,  and 
there  is  another  singer  at  the  Opera,  and  all  is  gone  but  the  credit, 
'  she  was  edicated  at  a  boardin'-school.' 

"  But  that  ain't  the  wust  nother,  she  is  never  no  good  arten- 
wards.  If  she  has  a  great  forten,  it  ain't  so  much  matter,  for  rich 
folks  can  do  what  they  please ;  but  if  she  ain't,  why,  a  head  oncet 
turned  like  a  stifle-joint  oncet  put  out  in  a  horse,  it  ain't  never  quite 
right  agin.  It  will  take  a  sudden  twist  agin  when  you  least  expect 
it.  A  taste  for  dress — a  taste  for  company — ^a  taste  for  expense, 
and  a  taste  for  beaux  was  larnt  to  boardin'-school,  and  larnt  so  well 
it's  never  forgot.  A  taste  for  no  house-keepin',  for  no  domestic 
afiairs,  and  for  no  any  thin'  good  or  usl^'uI,  was  larnt  to  boardin'- 
school,  too,  and  these  two  tastes  bein'  kind  o'  rudiments,  never  wear 
out  and  grow  rusty. 

"  Well,  when  Miss  comes  home,  when  old  father  and  marm  go  to 
lay  down  the  law,  she  won't  take  it  from  'em,  and  then  '  there  is  th« 
devil  to  pay  and  no  pitch  hot.*  She  has  been  away  three  years, 
may  be  five,  and  has  lamed  'the  rights  o'  women,'  and  the  duties  of 
*  old  fogeys '  of  fathers,  and  expects  to  be  her  own  mistress,  and 
theiin,  too.  Obey,  indeed  I  Why  should  she  obey? — Haint  she 
come  of  age  ? — Haint  she  been  to  a  female  seminary  and  got  her 
edication  finished  ?  It's  a  runnin'  fight  arter  that ;  sometimes  she's 
brought  to,  and  sometimes,  bein'  a  clipper,  she  gets  to  windward 
herself,  and  larfs  at  the  chase.  She  don't  answer  signals  no  more, 
and  why?  all  young  ladies  voted  it  a  bore  at  'the  boardin'-school? 

*'  What  a  pretty  wife  that  critter  makes,  don't  she  ? — She  never 
heerd  that  husband  and  wives  was  made  for  each  other,  but  only 
that  husbands  was  made  for  wives. — She  never  heerd  that  home 
meant  anything  but  a  house  to  see  company  in,  or  that  a  puss  had 
any  eend  to  it  but  one,  and  that  was  for  the  hand  to  go  in.  Heavens 
and  airth !  the  feller  she  catches  will  find  her  a  man-trap,  I  know-* 


I 


■www^ivi 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


201 


and  one,  too,  that  will  hold  on  like  grim  death  to  a  dead  nigger, — 
one  that  he  can't  lose  the  grip  of,  and  can't  pull  out  of,  but  that's 
got  him  tight  and  fast  for  ever  and  ever.  If  the  misfortunate  wretch 
has  any  children,  like  their  dear  mammp,  they,  in  their  turn,  are 
packed  off  to  be  edicated  and  ruined, — to  be  finished  and  bedeviled, 
body  and  soul,  to  a  boardin'- school.'* 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


THE    REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

The  following  morning,  Mr.  Slick,  who  always  made  much  greater 
despatch  at  his  meals  than  any  man  I  ever  saw,  called  for  the  daily 
newspaper  before  I  had  half  finished  my  breakfast.     "  Cotton's  ris,'* 
said  he,  "  a  penny  a  pound,  and  that's  a'most  four  dollars  a  bale  or 
CO ;  I'm  five  thousand  dollars  richer  than  I  was  yesterday  momin'. 
I  knowd  this  must  be  the  case  in  course,  for  I  had  an  account  of  last 
year's  crop,  and  I  larnt  what  stock  was  on  hand  here,  so  I  spekilated 
the  other  day,  and  bought  a  considerable  passel.    I'll  put  it  off  to- 
day on  the  enemy.     Gauliopilus !  if  here  ain't  the  Great  "Western  a 
comin'  in ;"  and  he  threw  down  the  paper  with  an  air  of  distress, 
and  sat  for  some  time  wholly  absorbed  with  some  disagreeable  sub- 
ject.    After  a  while,  he  rose  and  said,  "  Squire,  will  you  take  a 
walk  down  to  the  docks  along  with  me,  if  you've  done  breakfast. 
I'll  introduce  you  to  a  person  you've  often  heerd  tell  of,  but  never 
saw  afore.     Father's  come. — I  never  was  so  mad  in  all  my  life.— 
What  on  airth  shall  I  do  with  the  old  man  here — but  it  sarves  me 
right,  it  all  comes  of  my  crackin'  and  boastin'  so,  in  my  letters  to 
sister  Sal,  of  my  great  doings  to  London.    Dear,  dear,  how  provokin' 
this  is !     I  ain't  a  critter  that's  easy  scared  off,  but  I  swear  to  man  I 
feel  vastly  more  like  scooterin'  off  than  spunkin'  up  to  face  him, 
that's  a  fact.     You  know.  Squire,  I  am  a  man  of  fashion  now ;"  and 
here  he  paused  for  a  while  and  adjusted  his  shirt  collar,  and  then 
took  a  lingering  look  of  admiration  at  a  large  diamond  ring  on  his 
forefinger,  before  its  light  was  extinguished  by  the  glove — "  I'm  a 
man  of  fashion,  now ;  I  move  in  the  first  circles  ;  my  position  in  so- 
ciety is  about  as  tall  as  any  citizen  y>f  our  country  ever  had;  and  I 
must  say  I  feel  kinder  proud  of  it. 

"  But,  heavens  and  airth,  what  shall  I  do  with  father  ?  I  wam't 
broughten  up  to  it  myself,  and  if  I  hadn't  a  'jeen  as  soople  as  moose 
wood,  I  couldn't  have  gotten  the  inns  and  outs  of  high  life  as  I  have. 
As  it  was,  I  most  gi'n  it  up  as  a  bad  job :  but  now  I  guess  I  am  aa 

9* 


mmi 


203 


THB  ATTACH^;  01^ 


! 


|i  h 


!l  I 


|: 


well  dressed  a  man  as  any  you  see,  use  a  silver  fork  as  if  it  was 
nothin'  but  wood,  wine  with  folks  as  easy  as  the  best  on  'em,  and  am 
as  free  and  easy  as  if  I  was  to  home.  It's  ginirally  allowed  I  go  the 
whole  figure,  and  do  the  thing  genteel.  But  father,  airth  and  seas  1 
he  never  see  nothin'  but  Slickville,  for  BunkerhiU  only  lasted  one 
uight  and  a  piece  of  next  day,  and  continental  troops  wam't  like 
Broadway  or  west-eend  folks,  I  tell  you.  Then,  he's  considerable 
hard  of  heerin',  and  you  have  to  yell  a  thing  out  as  loud  as  a  trainin'- 
gun  afore  he  can  understand  it.  He  swears,  too,  enough  for  a  whole 
court-house  when  he's  mad.  He  lamt  that  in  the  old  war,  it  was  a 
fashion  then,  and  he's  one  o'  them  that  won't  alter  nothin'.  But  that 
ain't  the  worst  nother,  he  has  some  o'  them  country-fied  ways  that 
ryle  the  Britishers  so  much.  He  chaws  tobaccy  like  a  turkey, 
smokes  all  day  long,  and  puts  his  legs  on  the  table,  and  spits  like 
an  enjine.  Even  to  Slickville  these  revolutionary  heroes  was  always 
reckoned  behind  the  age ;  but  in  the  great  world  like  New  York,  or 
London,  or  Paris,  where  folks  go  a-head  in  manners  as  well  as 
everthin'  else,  why  it  won't  go  down  no  longer.  I'me  a  peacable 
man  when  I'me  good-natured,  but  I'me  ugly  enough  when  I'me 
ryled,  I  tell  you.  Now  folks  will  stuboy  father,  and  set  him  on 
to  make  him  let  out  jist  for  a  laugh,  and  if  they  do,  I'me  into  them 
as  sure  as  rates.  I'll  clear  the  room,  I'll  be  switched  if  I  don't.  No 
man  shall  insult  father,  and  me  standin'  by,  without  catchiu'  it,  I 
know.  For  old,  deaf,  and  rough  as  he  is,  he  is  father,  and  that  is  a 
large  word  when  it  is  spelt  right. — Yes,  let  me  see  the  man  that  will 
run  a  rigg  on  him,  and  by  the  Tamal — " 

Here  he  suddenly  paused,  and,  turning  to  a  man  that  was  passing, 
said,  •*  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  "  What?"  "  Why,  runnin' 
agin  me ;  you  had  better  look  as  if  you  didn't,  hadn't  you  ?"  "  You 
be  hanged  I"  said  the  man,  "  I  didn't  touch  you."  "  D — n  you !"  said 
Mr.  Slick,  "  I'll  knock  you  into  the  middle  of  next  week."  "  Two 
can  play  at  that  game,"  said  the  stranger ;  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  both  in  attitude.  Catching  the  latter's  eye,  I  put  my  finger  to 
my  forehead,  and  shook  my  head.  ^'  Ah  I"  said  he,  "  poor  fellow  1 1 
thought  so,"  and  walked  away.  "  You  thought  so,"  said  Mr.  Slick, 
"  did  you  ?  Well,  it's  lucky  you  found  it  out  afore  you  had  to  set 
down  the  figures,  I  can  tell  you." 

«  Come,  come,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Slick,  I  thout  you  said  you  were  a 
man  of  fashion,  and  here  you  are  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel  in  the 
street." 

"  Fashion,  Sir,"  said  he,  "  it  is  always  my  fashion  to  fight  when 
I'me  mad;  but  I  do  suppose,  as  you  say,  a  street  quarrel  ain't  very 
genteel.  Queen  might  hear  it,  and  it  would  lower  our  great  nation 
in  the  eyes  of  foreigners.  When  I'm  ready  to  bust,  tho',  I  like  to 
let  ofi*  steam,  and  them  that's  by  must  look  our  for  scaldings,  that's 
all.    I  am  lyled,  that's  a  iact,  and  it's  enough  to  put  a  man  out  of 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENOLAND. 


203 


I 


eorts  tj  have  this  old  man  come  a  trampousin'  here,  to  set  for  a  pio- 
tur  to  Dickens  or  some  other  print  maker,  and  for  me  to  set  by  and 
hear  folks  a  snickering  at  it.  If  he  will  go  a  bull-draggin'  of  me 
about,  I'll  resign  and  go  right  off  home  agin,  for  he'll  dress  so  like 
old  Scratch,  we  shall  have  a  whole  crowd  arter  our  heels  whichever 
way  we  go.  I'me  a  gone  sucker,  that's  a  fact,  and  shall  have  a 
muddy  time  of  it.  Pity,  too,  for  I  am  gettin'  rather  fond  of  high 
life;  I  £nd  I  have  a  kinder  nateral  taste  for  good  society.  A  good 
tuck  out  every  day,  for  a  man  that  has  a  good  appetite,  ain't  to  be 
sneezed  at,  and  as  much  champagne,  and  hock,  and  madeiry  as  you 
can  well  carry,  and  cost  you  nothin'  but  the  trouble  of  eatin'  and 
drinkin',  to  my  mind  is  better  than  cuttin*  your  own  fodder.  At  first, 
I  didn't  care  much  about  wine ;  it  warn't  strong  enough,  and  didn't 
seem  to  have  no  flavor,  but  taste  improves,  and  I  am  a  considerable 
Judge  of  it  now.  I  always  used  to  think  champaigne  no  better  nor 
mean  cider,  and  p'r'aps  the  imertation  stuff  we  medce  to  New  York 
«un't,  but  if  you  get  the  clear  grit,  there  is  no  mistake  in  it,  Lick, 
it  feels  handsome,  I  tell  you.  Sutherland  has  the  best  I've  tasted 
in  town,  and  it's  iced  down  to  the  exact  p'int  better  nor  most 
has  it." 

"  Sutherland's,"  I  said,  "  is  that  the  hotel  near  Mivart's  ?*' 
''  Hotel,  indeed !"  said  he,  ^'  whoever  heer'd  of  good  wine  at  an 
hotel?  and  if  he  did  hear  of  it,  what  a 'fool  he'd  be  to  go  drink  it 
there  and  pay  for  it,  when  he  can  dine  out  and  have  it  all  free  gratis 
for  nothin'.  Hotel,  indeed  1 1 — ^no,  it's  the  great  Duke  of  Suther- 
land's.    The  *  Socdolager '  and  I  dine  there  often." 

"  Oh !  the  Duke  of  Sutherland,"  said  I ;  "  now  I  understand  you." 
"  And  I,"  he  replied,  **  understand  you  now,  too,  Squire.  Why, 
in  the  name  of  sense,  if  you  wanted  to  c'rect  me,  did  you  go  ail 
round  about,  and  as.  so  many  questions  ?  Why  didn't  you  come 
straight  up  to  the  mark,  and  say  that  word  '  Sutherland '  has  slipt 
off  its  handle,  and  I'd  a  fixt  the  helve  into  the  eye,  and  put  a  wedge 
into  it  to  fasten  it  in  my  memory  ?  I  do  like  a  man  to  stand  up  to 
his  lick  log,  but  no  matter. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  his  champagne  is  the  toplofUest  I've 
seen.  His  hock  ain't  quite  so  good  as  Bobby  Feel's  (I  mean  Sir 
Kobert  Peel).  Lord,  he  has  some  from  Joe  Hannah's — Bug  Met- 
ternioh's  vineyard  on  the  Khine.  It  is  very  sound,  has  a  tall  flavor, 
a  good  body,  and  a  special  handsome  taste.  It  beats  the  Bug's,  I 
tell  you.  High  life  is  high  life,  that's  a  fact,  especially  for  a  single 
man,  for  it  costs  him  nothin'  but  for  his  bed,  and  cab-hire,  and 
white  gloves.  He  Uves  like  a  pet  rooster,  and  actilly  saves  his 
board.  To  give  it  all  up  ain't  no  joke ;  but  if  tlus  old  man  will 
make  a  show — ^for  I  shall  feel  as  striped  as  a  rainbow — of  himself, 
I'me  off  right  away,  I  tell  you — ^I  won't  stand  it,  for  he  is  my 
father,  and  what's  more,  I  can't,  tor  (drawing  himself  up,  com- 


^B»™»"H«P 


"7"^ 


w^^mmmmrmmfiw 


204 


THE  attach:^;  ok, 


■ 


posing  his  moustache,  and  adjusting  his  collar)  /  am  *  Sara 
Slick.' » 

"  What  induced  him,"  I  said,  <'  at  his  advanced  age,  to  *  tempt 
the  stormy  deep,'  and  to  leave  his  comfortable  home,  to  visit  a  coun- 
try against  which  I  have  often  heard  you  say  he  had  very  strong 
prejudices  ?" 

"I  can't  just  'xactly  say  what  it  is,"  says  he,  "  it's  a  kind  of  mys- 
tery to  me, — ^it  would  take  a  great  bunch  of  eipherin'  to  find  that 
out, — ^but  I'me  afeerd  it's  my  foolish  letters  to  sister  Sal,  Squire,  for 
I'll  tell  you  candid,  I've  been  braggin'  in  a  way  that  ain't  slow  to 
Sal,  cause  I  knowed  it  would  please  her,  and  women  do  like  most 
special  to  have  a  crane  to  hang  their  pot-hooks  on,  so  I  thought '  my 
brother  Sam'  would  make  one  just  about  the  right  size.  If  you'd 
a-seen  my  letters  to  her,  you  wouldn't  a-scolded  about  leaving  out 
titles,  I  can  tell  you,  for  they  are  all  put  in  at  tandem  length.  They 
are  full  of  Queen  and  Prince,  and  Lords  and  Dukes,  and  Marquisas 
and  Markees,  and  Sirs,  and  the  Lord  knows  who.  She  has  been 
astonishin'  the  natives  to  Slickville  with  Sam  and  the  Airl,  and  Sam 
and  the  Dutchess,  and  Sam  and  the  Baronet,  and  Sam  and  the 
Devil,  and  I  intended  she  should ;  but  she  has  turned  p6or  old 
father's  head,  and  that  I  didn't  intend  she  should.  It  sarves  me  right 
though, — I  had  no  business  to  brag,  for  though  brag  is  a  good  dog, 
hold-fast  is  a  better  one.  But  Willis  bragged,  and  Rush  bragged^ 
and  Stephenson  bragged,  and  they  all  bragged  of  the  Lords  they 
knowed  to  England ;  and  then  Cooper  bragged  of  the  Lords  he  re- 
fused to  know  there ;  and  when  they  returned  every  one  stared  at 
them,  and  said  '  Oh,  he  knows  nobility, — or  he  is  so  great  a  man  he 
wouldn't  touch  a  noble  with  a  pair  of  tongs.'  So  I  thought  I'd  brag  a 
little,  too,  so  as  to  let  poor  Sal  say  my  brother  Sam  went  a-head  of  them 
all.  There  was  no  great  harm  in  it  arter  all.  Squire,  was  there  ? 
You  know,  at  home,  in  a  family  where  none  but  household  is  by, 
why  we  do  let  out  sometimes,  and  say  nobody  is  good  enough  for 
Sal,  and  nobody  rich  enough  for  Sam,  and  the  Slicks  are  the  first 
people  in  Slickville,  and  so  on.  It's  innocent  and  nateral  too,  for 
most  folks  think  more  of  themselves  in  a  gineral  way  than  any  one 
else  does.  But,  Lord  love  you,  there  is  no  calculatin'  on  women — 
they  are  the  cause  of  all  the  evil  in  the  world.  On  purpose,  or  on 
accident,  in  temper  or  in  curiosity,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  some  how 
or  another,  they  do  seem  as  if  they  couldn't  help  doin'  mischief. 
Now,  here  is  Sal,  as  good  and  kind-hearted  a  crittur  as  ever  lived, 
has  gone  on  boastin'  till  she  has  bust  the  byler.  She  has  made  a 
proper  fool  of  poor  old  father,  and  e'en  a-jist  ruined  me.  I'me  a 
gone  coon  now,  that's  a  fact.  Jist  see  this  letter  of  Other's,  tellin' 
me  he  is  a-comin'  over  in  the  *  Western.'  If  it  was  any  one  else's 
case,  I  should  haw-haw  right  out ;  but  now  it's  come  home,  I  could 
boo-hoo  with  spite  a-most.    Here  it  is — no  that's  not  it  nother,  that's 


.  I 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


205 


an  invite  from  Melb. — Lord  Melbonme — ^no,  this  is  it, — ^no  it  tainte 
nother,  that's  from  Lord  Brougham, — no,  it's  in  my  trunk,— I'll  show 
it  to  jou  some  other  time.  I  can't  'xactlj  fathom  it :  it's  a  ditch  I 
can't  jist  pole  over ;  he's  got  some  crotchet  in  his  head,  but  the  Lord 
only  knows  what.  I  was  proud  of  father  to  Slickville,  and  so  was 
every  one,  for  he  was  the  makin'  of  the  town,  and  he  was  one  of  our 
old  veterans  too ;  but  here,  somehow  or  another,  it  sounds  kinder 
odd  to  have  a  man  a  crackin'  of  himself  up  as  a  Bunker  Hill,  or  a 
revolutionary  hero.** 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


on 
ow 
ef. 
3d, 


m 
^'s 
Id 


THE    EYE. 

As  soon  as  the  '  Great  Western*  was  warped  into  dock  I  left  Mr. 
Slick,  and  returned  to  the  hotel.  His  unwillingness  to  meet  his 
father  I  knew  arose  from  the  difference  of  station  in  which  they 
were  adventitiously  placed ;  his  pride  v;as  evidently  wounded,  and  I 
was  reluctant  to  increase  his  mortification  by  witnessing  their  first 
interview.  I  did  not  see  them  until  the  following  day,  when  we  were 
about  to  depart  for  London.  It  was  evident,  from  the  appearance  of 
the  Colonel,  that  his  son  had  caused  his  whole  attire  to  be  changed, 
for  it  was  perfectly  new,  and  not  unlike  that  of  most  persons  of  his 
age  in  England.  He  was  an  uncultivated  man,  of  rough  manners 
and  eccentric  habits,  and  very  weak  and  vain.  He  had  not  kept 
pace  with  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  was  a  perfect  specimen  of 
a  colonist  of  the  rural  districts  of  Connecticut  sixty  years  ago.  I 
had  seen  many  such  persons  among  the  loyalists,  or  refugees  as  they 
were  called,  who  had  followed  the  troops  at  the  peace  of  1784  to 
Nova  Scotia.  Although  quite  an  original  therefore  in  England, 
there  was  but  little  of  novelty  either  in  his  manner,  appearance,  or 
train  of  thought,  to  me.  Men  who  have  a  quick  perception  of  the 
ludicrous  in  others,  are  always  painfully  and  sensitively  alive  to 
ridicule  themselves.  Mr.  Slick,  therefore,  watched  his  father  with 
great  uneasiness  during  our  passage  in  the  train  to  town,  and  to  pre- 
vent his  exposing  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  engrossed  the  whole 
conversation. 

"  There  is  a  change  in  the  fashion  here.  Squire,"  said  he ;  "  black 
stocks  aint  the  go  no  longer  for  full  dress,  and  white  ones  aint  quite 
up  to  the  notch  nother ;  to  my  mind  they  are  a  leetlp  sarvanty.  A 
man  of  fashion  must  <  mind  his  eye'  always.  I  guess  I'll  send  and 
get  some  white  muslins,  but  then  the  difficulty  is  to  tie  them  neat. 
Perhaps  nothin'  in  natur'  is  so  difficult  as  to  tie  a  white  cravat  so 


>»^^  -tif  M  (^VWf  ?>• 


206 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


as  not  to  rumfoozle  it  or  sile  it  It  requires  quite  a  slight  of  hand, 
that's  a  fact  I  used  to  get  our  beautiful  little  chamber-help  to  do 
it  when  I  first  come,  for  women's  fingers  aint  all  thumbs  like  men's ; 
but  the  angeliferous  dear  was  too  short  to  reach  up  easy,  so  I  had  to 
stand  her  on  the  foot-stool,  and  that  was  so  tottlish  I  had  to  put  one 
hand  on  one  side  of  her  waist,  and  one  on  t'other,  to  steedy  her  like, 
and  that  used  to  set  her  little  heart  a  beatin'  like  a  drum,  and  kinder 
agitated  her,  and  it  made  me  feel  sort  of  all-overish  too,  so  we  had 
to  ginn  it  up,  for  it  took  too  long ;  we  never  could  tie  the  knot  under 
halt'  an  hour.  But  then,  practice  makes  perfect,  and  that's  a  fact 
If  a  feller  *  minds  his  eye'  he  will  soon  ratch  the  nack,  for  the  eye 
must  never  be  let  go  asleep,  except  in  bed.  Lord,  it's  in  little 
things  a  man  of  fashion  is  seen  in  !  Now  how  many  ways  there  be 
of  eatin'  an  orange.  First,  there's  my  way  when  I'm  alone ;  take  a 
bite  out,  su^k  the  juice,  tear  off  a  piece  of  the  hide  and  eat  it  for 
digestion,  and  role  up  the  rest  into  a  ball  and  give  it  a  shy  into  the 
street ;  or,  if  other  folks  is  by,  jist  take  a  knife  and  cut  it  into  pie- 
ces; or  if  gals  is  present,  strip  him  down  to  his  waist,  lefivin'  his 
outer  garment  hanging  graceful  over  his  hips,  and  his  upper  man 
standiu'  in  his  beautiful  shirt ;  or  else  quartern  him,  with  hands  off, 
neat,  scientific,  and  workmanlike ;  or,  lif  it's  forbidden  fruit's  to  be 
carved,  why  tearin'  him  with  silver  forks  into  good  sizeable  pieces 
for  helpin'.  All  this  is  larnt  by  mindirC  your  eye.  And  now. 
Squire,  let  me  tell  you,  for  nothin'  'scapes  me  a'most,  though  I  say 
it  that  shouldn't  say  it,  but  still  it  taint  no  vanity  in  me  to  say  that 
nothin*  never  escapes  me.  /  mind  my  eye.  And  now  let  me  tell 
you  there  aint  no  maxim  in  natur'  hardly  equal  to  that  one.  Folks 
may  go  crackin'  and  braggin'  of  their  knowledge  of  Phisionomy,  or 
their  skill  in  Phrenology,  but  it's  all  moonshine.  A  feller  can  put 
on  any  phiz  he  likes  and  deceive  the  devil  himself;  and  as  for  a 
knowledge  of  bumps,  why  natur'  never  intended  them  for  signs,  or 
she  wouldn't  have  covered  'em  all  over  with  hair,  and  put  them  out 
of  sight  Who  the  plague  will  let  you  be  puttin'  your  fingers  under 
their  hair,  and  be  a  foozlin'  of  their  heads  ?  If  it's  a  man,  why  he'll 
knock  you  down,  and  if  it's  a  gal,  she  will  look  to  her  brother,  as 
much  as  to  say,  if  this  sassy  feller  goes  a  feelin'  of  my  bumps,  I 
wish  you  would  let  your  foot  feel  a  bump  of  his'n,  that  will  teach 
him  better  manners,  that's  all.  No,  it's  *  all  in  my  eye.'  You  must 
look  there  for  it  Well,  then,  some  fellers,  and  especially  painters, 
go  a  ravin,  and  a  pratin'  about  the  mouth,  the  expression  of  the 
mouth,  the  seat  of  all  the  emotions,  the  speakin'  mouth,  the  large 
print  of  the  mouth,  and  such  stuff ;  and  others  are  for  everlastingly 
a  lecturin'  about  the  nose,  the  expression  of  the  nose,  the  character 
of  the  nose,  and  so  on,  jist  as  if  the  nose  was  anything  else  but  a 
speekin'  trumpet  that  a  sneeze  blows  thro',  and  the  snuffles  gives  the 
rattles  to,  or  that  cant  uses  as  a  flute ;  I  wouldn't  give  a  piece  of 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


207 


tobackj  for  the  nose,  except  to  tell  me  when  my  food  was  good ;  nor 
a  cent  for  the  mouth,  except  as  a  kennel  for  the  tongue.  But  the 
eye  is  the  boy  for  me ;  there's  no  mistake  there;  study  that  well, 
and  you  will  read  any  man's  heart,  as  plain  as  a  book.  '  Mind  your 
eye'  is  the  maxim  you  may  depend,  either  with  man  or  woman. 
Now  I  will  explain  this  to  you,  and  give  you  a  rule,  with  examples, 
as  Minister  used  to  say  to  night-school,  that's  worth  knowing,  1  can 
tell  you.  <Mind  your  eye'  is  the  rule;  now  for  the  examples. 
Furst,  let's  take  men,  and  then  women.  Now,  Squire,  the  first  rail- 
road that  was  ever  made,  was  made  by  natur'.  It  runs  from  the 
heart  to  the  eye,  and  it  goes  so  almighty  fast,  it  can't  be  compared 
to  nothin'  but  iled  lightening.  The  moment  the  heart  opens  its 
doors,  out  jumps  an  emotion,  'whips  into  a  car,  and  ofis  like  wink  to 
the  eye.  That's  the  station-house  and  terminus  for  the  passengers, 
and  every  passenger  carries  a  lantern  in  his  hand  as  bright  as  an 
Argand  lamp ;  you  can  see  him  ever  so  far  off.  Look,  therefore, 
to  the  eye,  if  there  aint  no  lamp  there,  no  soul  leaves  the  heart  that 
hitch ;  there  ain't  no  train  runnin',  and  the  station-house  is  empty. 
It  taint  every  one  as  knows  this,  but  as  I  said  before,  nothin'  never 
'scapes  me,  and  I  have  proved  it  over  and  over  agin.  Smiles  can 
be  put  on  and  off  like  a  wig ;  sweet  expressions  come  and  go  like 
shades  and  lights  in  natur ;  the  hands  will  squeeze  like  a  fox-trap ; 
the  body  bends  most  graceful ;  the  ear  will  be  most  attentive ;  the 
manner  will  flatter,  so  you're  enchanted ;  and  the  tongue  will  lie  like 
the  devil — ^but  the  eye^  never.  And  yet  there  are  all  sorts  of  eyes. 
There's  an  onmeanin'  eye,  and  a  cold  eye ;  a  true  eye,  and  a  false 
eye ;  a  sly  eye,  n  kickin'  eye,  a  passionate  eye,  a  revengeful  eye,  a 
manoeuvering  eye,  a  joyous  eye,  and  a  sad  eye ;  a  squinting  eye,  and 
the  evil  eye ;  and,  above  all,  the  dear  little  loving  eye,  and  so  forth. 
They  must  be  studied  to  be  lamt,  but  the  two  important  ones  to  be 
known  are  the  true  eye  and  the  false  eye.  Now  what  do  you  think 
of  that  statesman  that  you  met  to  dinner  yesterday,  that  stuck  to  you 
like  a  burr  to  a  sheep's  tail,  a-takin'  such  an  interest  in  your  books 
and  in  colony  governments  and  colonists  as  sweet  as  sugar-candy  ? 
What  did  you  think  of  him,  eh  ?" 

"  I  thought  him,"  I  said,  "  a  well-informed  gentlemanlike  man, 
and  I  believe  him  to  be  a  sincere  friend  of  mine.  I  have  received 
too  many  civilities  from  him  to  doubt  his  sincerity,  especially  as  I 
have  no  claims  upon  him  whatever.  I  am  an  unknown,  obscure, 
and  humble  man ;  above  all,  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  colonist ;  his  at- 
tentions, therefore,  must  be  disinterested." 

"  That's  all  you  know,  Squire,"  said  he,  "  he  is  the  greatest  hum- 
bug in  all  England.  I'll  tell  you  what  he  wanted: — He  .wanted  to 
tap  you ;  he  wanted  information ;  he  wanted  your  original  views  for 
his  speech  for  Parliament ;  in  short,  he  wanted  to  know  if  Nova 
Scotia  was  in  Canada  or  New  Brunswick,  without  the  trouble  of 


208 


THE  ATTACH^:;  OB, 


i 


;,  I 


looking  it  out  in  the  map.  You  didn't  mind  his  eye ;  it  warnH  in 
tune  with  his  face ;  the  Ij^st  was  up  to  consart  pitch,  and  t'other  one 
several  notes  lower.  He  was  readin'  you.  His  eye  was  cold,  ab- 
stracted, thoughtful :  it  had  no  Argand  lamp  in  it.  He'll  use  you, 
and  throw  you  away.  You  can't  use  him,  if  you  was  to  try.  You 
are  one  of  the  sticks  used  by  politicians ;  he  is  the  hand  that  holds 
you.  You  support  him,  he  is  of  no  good  to  you.  When  you  cease 
to  answer  his  purpose  he  lays  you  aside  and  takes  another.     He  has 

*  a  manoevring  eye.*  The  eye  of  a  politician  is  like  that  of  an  old 
lawyer,  a  sort  of  spider-eye.  Few  things  resembles  each  other 
more  in  natur',  than  an  old  cunnin'  lawyer  and  a  spider.  He  weaves 
his  web  in  a  corner  with  no  light  behind  him  to  show  the  thread  of 
his  nest,  but  in  the  shade  like,  and  then  he  waits  in  the  dark  office 
to  receive  visitors.  A  buzzin',  burrin',  thoughtless  fly,  thinkin'  of 
nothin'  but  his  beautiful  wings,  and  well-made  legs,  and  rather  near- 
sighted withal,  comes  stumblin'  head  over  heels  into  the  net.  *  I  beg 
your  pardon,*  says  fly, '  I  reely  didn't  see  this  net- work  of  yours ;  the 
weather  is  so  fo^gy,  and  the  streets  so  confounded  dark — they  ought 
to  burn  gas  here  all  day.  I  am  afraid  I  have  done  mischief.'  *■  Not 
at  all,*  says  spider,  bowin'  most  gallus  purlite,  *  I  guess  it's  all  my 
fault ;  I  reckon  I  had  ought  to  have  hung  a  lamp  out ;  but  pray 
don't  move  or  you  may  do  dammage.  Allow  me  to  assist  you.*  And 
then  he  ties  one  leg  and  then  t'other,  and  furls  up  both  his  wings, 
and  has  him  as  fast  as  Gibraltar.  *  Now,'  says  spider, '  my  good 
friend  (a  phrase  a  feller  always  uses  when  he's  a-goin'  to  be  tricky), 
I  am  afeared  you  have  hurt  yourself  a  considerable  sum ;  I  must 
bleed  you.'  *  Bleed  me,'  says  fly,  *  excuse  me,  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you,  I  don't  require  it.*  *  Oh,  yes,  you  do,  my  dear  friend,'  he 
says,  and  he  gets  ready  for  the  operation.  *  If  you  dare  to  do  that,* 
says  fly,  *  I'll  knock  you  down,  you  scoundrel,  and  I'me  a  man  that 
what  I  lay  down  I  stand  on.'  '  You  had  better  get  up  first,  my  good 
friend,'  says  spider  a-laughin'.  '  You  must  be  bled ;  you  must  pay 
damages ;'  and  he  bleeds  him,  and  bleeds  him,  and  bleeds  him,  till 
he  gasps  for  breath,  and  feels  faintin'  come  on.  *  Let  me  go,  my 
good  feller,'  says  poor  fly,  *  and  I  will  pay  liberally.*  *  Pay,'  says 
spider ;  *  you  miserable  oncircumcised  wretch,  you  have  nothin'  left 
to  pay  with ;  take  that,*  and  he  gives  him  the  last  dig,  and  fly  is  a 
gone  coon — ^bled  to  death. 

"  The  politician,  the  lawyer,  and  the  spider,  they  are  all  alike,  they 
have  the  manoevering  eye.  Beware  of  these  I  tell  you.  Mind  your 
eye.  Women  is  more  (fifficulter  still  to  read  than  man,  because  smilin' 
comes  as  nateral  to  them  as  suction  to  a  snipe.  Doin'  the  agreeable 
is  part  of  their  natur',  specially  afore  folks  (for  sometimes  they  do 
the  Devil  to  home).  The  eye  tho'  is  the  thing  to  tell  'em  by,  it's 
infallible,  that's  a  fact.    There  is  two  sorts  of  women  that  have  the 

*  manoevering  eye'— one  that's  false  and  imprudent,  and  t'other  that's 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


209 


),  my 

says 

I'left 


false  and  cautious.  The  first  is  soon  found  out,  by  them  that  live 
much  with  them ;  but  I  defy  old  Scratch  himself  to  find  the  other 
out  without '  mindin'  his  eye.*  I  knowed  two  such  women  to  Slick- 
ville,  one  was  all  smiles  and  graces,  oh !  she  was  as  sweet  as  candy ; 
oh !  dear,  how  kind  she  was.  She  used  to  kiss  me,  and  oncet  gave 
me  the  astmy  for  a  week,  she  hugged  me  so.  She  called  me  dear 
Sam,  always. 

"  *  Oh !  Sammy  dear,'  says  she,  *  how  do  you  do  ?  How  is  poor 
dear  old  Minister,  and  the  Colonel,  your  father,  is  he  well  ?  Why 
don't  you  come  as  you  used  to  did  to  see  us  ?  Will  you  stay  dinner 
to-day  ? — do,  that's  a  good  fellow.  I  thought  you  was  offended,  you 
staid  away  so  long.'  *  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,*  says  I,  *  seein'  that 
I  have  nothin'  above  particular  to  do ;  but  I  must  titivate  up  a  leetle 
first,  so  ril  jist  go  into  the  boy's  room  and  smarten  a  bit.'  Well, 
when  I  goes  in,  I  could  hear  her,  thro'  the  partition,  say,  *  What  pos- 
sesses that  critter  to  come  here  so  often  ?  he  is  for  ever  a  botherin* 
of  us ;  or  else  that  stupid  old  Minister  comes  a  prosin'  and  a  potterin' 
all  day :  and  as  for  his  father,  he  is  the  biggest  fool  in  the  whole 
State,  eh  ?'  Heavens  and  airth,  how  I  curled  inwardly !  I  felt  all 
up  an  eend.  Father  the  biggest  fool  in  the  State,  eh?  *No,  you 
are  mistaken  there,  old  crocodile,'  says  I  to  myself.  *  Father's  own 
son  is  the  tallest  fool  for  allowing  of  himself  to  be  tooken  in  this  way 
by  you.  But  keep  cool,  Sam,'  says  I  to  myself, '  bite  in  your  breath, 
sw£dler  it  all  down,  and  sarve  her  out  her  own  way.  Don't  be  in 
debt,  pay  all  back,  principal  and  interest ;  get  a  receipt  in  full,  and 
be  a  free  man.'  So  when  I  went  back,  oh !  didn't  I  out-smile  her, 
and  out-compliment  her ;  and  when  I  quit,  didn't  I  return  her  kiss 
so  hard,  she  said, '  oh !'  and  looked  puzzled,  as  if  I  was  goin*  to  be  a 
fool  and  fall  in  love.  *  Now,'  says  I,  *  Sam,  study  that  screech-owl 
in  petticoats,  and  see  how  it  was  you  was  so  took  in.*  WeU,  I 
watched,  and  watched,  and  at  last  I  found  it  out.  It  bust  on  me  all 
at  once,  like.  I  hadn't '  minded  her  eye.*  I  saw  the  face  and  man- 
ner was  put  on  so  well,  it  looked  quite  nateral,  but  the  eye  had  no 
passengers  from  the  heart.  Truth  wam't  there.  There  was  no 
lamp,  it  was  *  a  mancevering  eye!  Such  critters  are  easy  found  out 
by  those  as  see  a  good  deal  of  them,  because  they  see  they  talk  one 
way  to  people's  faces,  and  another  way  to  their  backs.  They  ain't 
cautious,  and  folks  soon  think ;  well,  when  I'm  gone  my  turn  will 
come  next,  and  I'll  get  it  too,  and  they  take  care  not  to  give  *em  a 
chance.  But  a  cautious  false  woman  can  never  be  found  out  but  by 
the  eye.  I  know'd  a  woman  once  that  was  all  caution,  and  a  jinniral 
favorite  with  every  one,  every  one  said  what  a  nice  woman  she  was, 
how  kind,  how  agreeable,  how  sweet,  how  friendly,  and  all  that,  and 
so  she  was.  She  looked  so  artless,  and  smiled  so  pretty,  and  listened 
80  patient,  and  defended  any  one  you  abused,  or  held  her  tongue,  as 
if  she  wouldn't  jine  you ;  and  jist  looked  like  a  dear  sweet  love  of  a 


rr 


■mfmmm 


^ir"w»»^uji  j|i 


210 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


woman  that  was  all  goodness,  good-will  to  man,  charity  to  woman, 
and  smiles  for  all.  Well,  I  thought  as  everybody  did.  I  ain't  a 
Auspicious  man,  at  least  I  usn't  to  did  to  be,  and  at  that  time  I  didn't 
know  all  the  secrets  of  the  eye  as  I  do  now.  One  day  I  was  there 
to  a  quiltin'  frolic,  and  I  was  a-tellin'  of  her  one  of  my  good  stories, 
and  she  was  a  lookin  straight  at  me,  a  takin'  aim  with  her  smiles  so 
as  to  hit  me  with  every  one  on  'em,  and  a  laughin'  like  anythin' ;  but 
she  happened  to  look  round  for  a  pair  of  scissors  that  was  on  t'other 
side  of  her,  jist  as  I  was  at  the  funnyist  part  of  my  story,  and  lo  and 
behold  1  her  smiles  dropt  right  slap  off  like  a  petticoat  when  the 
string's  broke,  her  face  looked  vacant  for  a  minute,  and  her  eye 
waited  till  it  caught  some  one  else's,  and  then  it  found  its  focus, 
looked  right  straight  for  it,  all  true  agin,  but  she  never  looked  back 
for  the  rest  of  my  capital  story.     She  had  never  heard,  a  word  of  it. 

*  Creation !'  says  I,  *  is  this  all  a  bamm  ? — what  a  fool  I  be.'  I  was 
stumped,  I  tell  you.  Well,  a  few  days  arterwards,  I  found  out  the 
eye  secret  from  t'other  woman's  behaviour,  and  I  applied  the  test  to 
this  one,  and  I  hope  I  may  never  see  daylight  agin  if  there  wasn't 

*  the  manoeveriug  eye*  to  perfection.  If  I  had  know'd  the  world  then 
as  I  do  now,  I  should  have  had  some  misgivings  sooner.  JVb  maUf 
nor  woman  nother,  can  he  a  general  favorite^  and  he  true.  It  don't 
stand  to  natur'  and  common  sense.  The  world  is  divided  into  three 
'classes  ;  the  good,  the  had,  and  the  indifferent.  If  a  woman  is  a  fa- 
vorite  of  all,  there  is  somethin*  wrong.  She  ought  to  love  the  good,  to 
hate  the  wicked,  and  let  the  indifferent  he.  If  the  indifferent  like,  she 
has  heen  pretendin'  to  them;  if  the  had  like,  she  must  have  assented  to 
them;  and  if  the  good  like,  under  these  circumstances,  they  are  duped. 
A  general  favorite  don't  desarve  to  he  a  favorite  with  no  one.  And 
besides  that,  I  ought  to  have  know'd,  and  ought  to  have  asked,  does 
she  weep  with  them  that  weep,  because  that  is  friendship,  and  no 
mistake.  Anybody  can  smile  with  you,  for  it's  pleasant  to  smile,  or 
romp  with  you,  for  romping  is  fine  fun ;  but  will  they  lessen  your 
trouble  by  takin'  some  of  the  load  of  grief  off  your  shoulders  for  you 
and  carryin'  it  ?  That's  the  question,  for  that  ain't  a  pleasant  task ; 
but  it's  the  duty  of  a  friend  though,  that's  a  fact.  Oh !  cuss  your 
univarsal  favorites,  I  say !     Give  me  the  rael  Jeremiah. 

"  But  Lord  love  you !  obsarvin'  is  laming.  This  ain't  a  deep 
subject  arter  all,  for  this  eye  study  is  not  rit  in  cypher  like  treason, 
nor  in  the  dead  languages,  that  have  been  dead  so  long  ago,  there 
is  only  the  hair  and  the  bones  of  them  left.  Nor  foreign  languages, 
that's  only  fit  for  singin',  swarin',  braggin'  and  blowin'  soup  when  it's 
hot,  nor  any  kind  of  lingo.  It's  the  language  of  natur',  and  the  lan- 
guage of  natur'  is  the  voice  of  Providence.  Dogs  and  children  can 
larn  it,  and  half  the  time  know  it  better  nor  man ;  and  one  of  the 
first  lessons  and  plainest  laws  of  natur*  is, '  to  ndnd  the  eye* " 


8AH  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


211 


,i    .■!     .      ■>. 


.    .  CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE   QUEEN. 

Thb  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  according  to  appointment,  called 
to-day  upon  Mr.  Hopewell,  and  procured  for  him  the  honor  of  a 
private  audience  with  the  Queen.  Her  Majesty  received  him  most 
graciously,  and  appeared  to  be  much  struck  with  the  natural  grace 
and  ease  of  his  manner,  and  the  ingenuousness  and  simplicity  of  his 
character.  Many  anxious  inquiries  were  made  as  to  the  state  of 
the  Episcopal  Church  in  the  States,  and  the  Queen  expressed  her- 
self much  gratified  at  its  extr8x>rdinary  increase  and  prosperity  of 
late  years.  On  his  withdrawing,  her  Majesty  presented  him  with  a 
very  beautiful  snuff-box,  having  her  initials  on  it  set  in  brilliants, 
which  she  begged  him  to  gratify  her  by  accepting,  as  a  token  of 
respect  for  his  many  virtues,  and  of  the  pleasure  she  had  derived 
from  this  interview  with  the  only  surviving  colonist  of  the  United 
States  she  had  ever  seen. 

Of  such  an  event  as  an  introduction  at  Court,  the  tale  is  soon 
told.  They  are  too  short  and  too  uniform  to  admit  of  incident,  but 
they  naturally  suggest  many  reflections.  On  his  return,  he  said,  '^  I 
have  had  the  gratification,  to-day,  of  being  presented  to  the  Queen 
of  England.  Her  Majesty  is  the  first  and  only  monarch  I  have  ever 
seen.  How  exalted  is  her  station,  how  heavy  her  responsibilities, 
and  how  well  are  her  duties  performed  I  She  is  an  incomparable 
woman,  an  obedi  .nt  daughter,  an  excellent  wife,  an  exemplary  mo- 
ther, an  indulgent  mistress,  and  an  intelligent  and  merciful  Sovereign. 
The  women  of  England  have  great  reason  to  be  thankful  to  God, 
for  setting  before  them  so  bright  an  example  for  their  imitation : 
and  the  men  of  England  that  their  allegiance  is  due  to  a  Queen  who 
reigns  in  the  hearts  and  affections  of  the  people.  My  own  opinion 
is,  that  the  descent  of  the  sceptre  to  her  Majesty,  at  decease  of  the 
late  King,  was  a  special  interposition  of  Providence,  for  the  protec- 
tion and  safety  of  the  empire.  It  was  a  time  of  great  excitement. 
The  Reformers,  availing  themselves  of  the  turbulence  of  the  lower 
orders  whose  passions  they  had  inflamed,  had,  about  that  period,  let 
loose  the  midnight  incendiary  to  create  a  distress  that  did  not  exist, 
by  destroying  the  harvests  that  were  to  feed  the  poor ;  had  put  the 
masses  into  motion,  and  marched  immense  bodies  of  unemployed  and 


212 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


seditious  men  through  the  large  towns  of  the  kingdom,  in  order  to 
infuse  terror  and  dismay  through  the  land  ;  to  break  asunder  the  ties 
between  landlord  and  tenant,  master  and  servant,  parishioner  and 
rector,  and  subject  and  sovereign. 

"  Ignorant  and  brutal  as  these  people  were,  and  furious  and 
cruel  as  were  their  leaders,  still  they  were  men  and  Englishmen,  and 
when  they  turned  their  eyes  to  their  youthful  sovereign,  and  their 
virgin  Queen,  her  spotless  purity,  her  sex,  her  personal  helplessness, 
and  her  many  virtues,  touched  the  hearts  of  even  these  monsters ; 
while  the  knowledge  that  for  such  a  Queen^  millions  of  swords  would 
leap  from  their  scabbards,  in  every  part  of  the  empire,  awakened 
their  fears,  and  the  wave  of  sedition  rolled  back  again  into  the  bo- 
som of  the  deep,  from  which  it  had  been  thrown  up  by  Whiggery, 
Radicalism,  and  Agitation.  Had  there  at  that  juncture  been  a  Prince 
upon  the  throne,  and  that  Prince  unfortunately  not  been  popular, 
there  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  a  second  royal  martyr, 
and  a  Robespierre,  or  a  Cromwell,  would  have  substituted  a  reign 
of  terror  for  t^e  mild  and  merciful  government  of  a  constitutional 
and  legitimate  sovereign.  The  English  people  owe  much  to  their 
Queen.  The  hereditary  descent  of  the  crown,  the  more  we  consider 
it  and  the  more  experienced  we  become,  is,  afler  all.  Squire,  the 
best,  the  safest,  and  the  wisest  mode  possible  of  transmitting  it. 

"  Sam  is  always  extolling  the  value  of  a  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture. It  is,  no  doubt,  of  great  use  to  the  philosopher,  and  the  law- 
giver ;  but,  at  last,  it  is  but  the  knowledge  of  the  cunning  man.  The 
artful  advocate,  who  plays  upon  the  prejudices  of  a  jury ;  the  un- 
principled politician,  who  addresses  the  passions  of  the  vulgar ;  and 
the  subtle  courtier,  who  works  upon  the  weaknesses  and  foibles  of 
Princes,  may  pride  themselves  on  their  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
but,  in  my  opinion,  the  only  knowledge  necessary  for  man,  in  his 
intercourse  with  man,  is  written  in  a  far  ditfereut  book — the  Book 
of  Life. 

"  Now,  as  respects  the  subject  we  are  talking  of,  an  hereditary 
monarchy,  I  have  often  and  often  meditated  on  that  beautiful  parable, 
the  first  and  the  oldest,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  striking,  impres- 
sive, and  Instructive  of  all  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  Bible.  It 
occurs  in  the  ninth  chapter  of  Judges.  Abimelech,  you  may  recol- 
lect, induced  bis  kindred  to  prepare  the  way  for  his  ascent  to  the 
throne  by  a  most  horrible  massacre,  using  those  affectionate  words, 
that  are  ever  found  in  the  mouths  of  all  demagogues,  for  remember, 
he  said,  M  am  your  bone  and  your  flesh?'  His  followers  are  de- 
signated in  the  Holy  record  as  '  vain  and  light  persons,'  who,  when 
they  accepted  their  bribe  to  commit  that  atrocious  murder,  said, 
surely  hi  is  our  brother.  Regicides  and  rebels  use  to  this  day  the 
same  alluring  language ;  they  call  themselves  '  the  friends  of  the 
people,'  and  those  that  are  vile  enougfi  to  publish  seditious  tracts, 


SAM  8LI0K  IN  ENGLAND. 


218 


editary 

)arable, 

impres- 

}le.    It 

recol- 

to  tho 

words, 

lember, 

are  de- 

,  when 

,  said, 

lay  the 

of  the 

tracts, 


and  cowardly  enough  i  ot  to  avow  them,  always  subscribe  themselves 
'  one  of  the  People.'  The  perpetrators  of  this  awful  murder  gave 
rise  to  the  following  parable  : 

" '  The  trees  went  forth  on  a  time  to  anoint  a  king  over  them,  and 
they  said  unto  the  oliver-tree,  Reign  thou  over  us.' 

"  *  But  the  oliver-tree  said  unto  them,  Should  I  leave  my  fatness, 
wherewith  by  me  they  honor  God  and  man,  and  go  to  be  promoted 
over  the  trees  ?' 

"  <  And  the  trees  said  to  the  fig-tree.  Come  thou  and  reign  over 
us.* 

'*  *  But  the  fig-tree  said  unto  them, '  Should  I  forsake  my  sweet- 
ness, and  my  good  fruit,  and  go  to  be  promoted  over  the  trees  ?' 

" '  Then,  said  the  trees  unto  the  vine.  Come  thou  and  reign  over 
us.' 

"  *  And  the  vine  said  unto  them,  Should  I  leave  my  wine,  which 
cheereth  God  and  man,  and  go  to  be  promoted  over  the  trees  P 

" '  Then,  said  all  the  trees  unto  the  bramble,  Come  thou  and  reign 
over  us.' 

"  And  the  bramble  said  unto  the  trees.  If  in  truth  ye  anoint  me 
king  over  you,  then  come  and  put  your  trust  in  my  shadow ;  if  not, 
let  fire  come  out  of  the  bramble  and  devour  the  cedars  of  Lebanon.' " 

<'  What  a  beautiful  parable,  and  how  applicable  is  it  to  all  time 
and  all  ages.  The  oliver,  the  fig,  and  the  vine  had  their  several 
duties  to  perform,  and  were  unwilling  to  assume  those  for  which 
nature  had  not  designed  them.  They  were  restrained  alike  by  their 
modesty  and  their  strong  sense  of  rectitude. 

''  But  the  worthless  bramble,  the  poorest  and  the  meanest  plant 
in  the  forest,  with  the  presumptuous  vanity  so  peculiar  to  weak  and 
vulgar  men,  caught  at  once  at  the  offer,  aud  said, '  Anoint  me  your 
king,  and  repose  in  my  shadow ;'  and  then,  with  the  horrible  de- 
nunciations which  are  usually  uttered  by  these  lowbred  tyrants,  said, 
'  if  not,  let  fire  issue  from  me  and  destroy  all  the  noble  cedars  of 
Lebanon.' 

"  The  shadow  of  a  bramble  I ! — How  eloquent  is  this  vainglorious 
boast,  of  a  thing  so  humble,  so  naked  of  foliage,  so  pervious  to  the 
sun,  as  a  bramble ! ! — of  one,  too,  so  armed,  and  so  constituted  by 
nature,  as  to  destroy  the  fleece  and  lacerate  the  flesh  of  all  animals 
incautious  enough  to  approach  it.  As  it  was  with  the  trees  of  the 
forest,  to  whom  the  option  was  offered  to  elect  a  king,  so  it  is  with 
us  in  the  States  to  this  day,  in  the  choice  of  our  chief  magistrate. 
The  olive,  the  fig,  and  the  vine  decline  the  honor.  Content  to  re- 
main in  the  sphere  in  which  Providence  has  placed  them,  perform- 
ing their  several  duties  in  a  way  creditable  to  themselves,  and  useful 
to  the  public,  they  prefer  pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  their  way  to 
being  transplanteil  into  the  barren  soil  of  politics,  where  a  poisonous 
atmosphere  engenders  a  feeble  circulation,  and  a  sour  and  deterior- 


r 


i  ■•  UWIJHWI 


ii 


2U 


THB  ATTACH^;   OR, 


ated  fruit.  The  brambles  alone  contend  for  the  prize ;  and  how 
often  are  the  stately  cedars  destroyed  to  make  room  for  those  worth- 
less pretenders.  Republicanism  has  caused  our  country  to  be  over- 
run by  brambles.  The  Reform  Bill  has  greatly  increased  them  in 
England,  and  responsible  government  has  multiplied  them  tenfold  in 
the  colonies.  May  the  offer  of  a  crown  never  be  made  to  one  here, 
but  may  it  descend,  through  all  time,  to  the  lawful  heirs  and  descen- 
dants of  this  noble  Queen. 

"What  a  glorious  spectacle  is  now  presented  in  London — the 
Queen,  the  Nobles,  and  the  Commons,  assembling  at  their  appointed 
time,  aided  by  the  wisdom,  sanctified  by  the  prayers,  and  honored 
by  the  presence,  of  the  prelates  of  the  Church,  to  deliberate  for  the 
benefit  of  this  vast  empire !  What  a  union  of  rank,  of  wealth,  of 
talent,  of  piety,  of  justice,  of  benevolence,  and  of  all  that  is  good  and 
great,  is  to  be  found  in  this  national  council.  The  world  is  not  able 
to  shake  an  empire  whose  foundation  is  laid  like  that  of  England. 
But  treason  may  undermine  what  force  dare  not  assault.  The 
strength  of  this  nation  lies  in  the  union  of  the  Church  with  the 
state.  To  sever  this  connection,  then,  is  the  object  of  all  the  evil 
disposed  in  the  realm,  for  they  are  well  aware  that  the  sceptre  will 
fall  with  the  ruin  of  the  altar.  The  brambles  may,  then,  as  in  days 
of  old,  have  the  offer  of  power.  What  will  precede,  and  what  will 
follow,  such  an  event,  we  all  full  well  know.  All  Holy  Scripture 
was  written,  we  are  informed, '  that  we  might  read,  mark,  learn,  and 
inwardly  digest  it  ;*  and  we  are  told  therein  that  such  an  offer  was 
not  made  in  the  instance  alluded  to  till  the  way  was  prepared  for  it 
by  the  murder  of  all  those  lawfully  entitled  to  the  throne,  and  that 
it  was  followed  by  the  most  feariul  denunciations  against  all  the 
aristocracy  of  the  land.  The  brambles,  then,  as  now,  were  levellers; 
the  tall  cedars  were  objects  of  their  hatred. 

"  It  is  a  holy  and  blessed  union.    Wordsworth,  whom,  as  a  child 
of  nature  I  love,  has  beautifully  expressed  my  ideas  on  this  subject : 

" '  Hail  to  the  crown  by  Freedom  shaped  to  gird 
An  English  sovereign's  brow  !  and  to  the  throne 
Whereon  she  sits  !  whose  deep  foundations  Lt 
In  veneration  and  the  people's  love ; 
Whose  steps  are  equity,  whose  seat  is  law, 
Hail  to  the  State  of  England  !     And  conjoin 
With  this  a  salutation  as  devout, 
Made  to  the  spiritual  fabric  of  her  Church, 
Founded  in  truth ;  by  blood  of  Martyrdom 
Cemented  ;  by  the  hands  of  Wisdom  reared 
In  beauty  of  lioliness,  with  ordered  pomp. 
Decent  and  unreproved.     The  voice  that  greets 
The  majesty  of  both,  shall  pray  for  both  ; 
That  mutually  protected  and  sustained, 
They  may  endure  as  long  as  sea  surrounds 
This  favored  land,  or  sunshine  warms  her  soil.' " 


SAlf  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


215 


e;  and  how 
those  worth- 
Y  to  be  over- 
ased  them  in 
;m  tenfold  ia 
to  one  here, 
and  descen- 

[Jondon — the 
sir  appointed 
Eind  honored 
erate  for  the 
>f  weahh,  of 
.  is  good  and 
i  is  not  able 
of  England, 
sault.  The 
•ch  with  the 
'  all  the  evil 
sceptre  will 
Q,  as  in  days 
ad  what  will 
|ly  Scripture 
if  learn,  and 
an  offer  was 
jpared  for  it 
ne,  and  that 
linst  all  the 
jre  levellers; 

1,  as  a  child 
his  subject : 


After  repeating  these  verses,  to  which  he  gave  great  effect,  he 
slowly  rose  from  his  seat — drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height — and 
lifted  up  both  his  hands,  in  a  manner  so  impressive  as  to  bring  me 
at  once  upon  my  feet.  I  shall  ever  retain  a  most  vivid  recollection 
of  the  scene.  His  tall  erect  figure,  his  long  white  hair  descending 
on  his  collar,  his  noble  forehead,  and  intelligent  and  benevolent 
countenance,  and  the  devout  and  earnest  expression  of  his  face,  was 
truly  Apostolical.  His  attitude  and  manner,  as  I  have  before  ob- 
served, caused  me  involuntarily  to  rise,  when  he  gave  vent  to  his 
feelings  in  those  words,  so  familiar  to  the  ear,  and  so  dear  to  the 
heart  of  every  churchman,  that  I  cannot  deny  myself  the  satisfaction 
of  transcribing  them,  for  the  benefit  of  those  whose  dissent  precludes 
them  from  the  honor,  and  the  gratification  of  constantly  uniting 
with  us  in  their  use  : 

" '  Almighty  God,  whose  kingdom  is  everlasting  and  power  infi- 
nite, have  mercy  upon  the  whole  Church,  and  so  rule  the  heart  of 
thy  chosen  servant,  Victoria,  Queen  and  Governor,  of  England, 
that  she,  knowing  whose  minister  she  is,  may,  above  all  things,  seek 
thy  honor  and  glory,  and  that  all  her  subjects,  duly  considering 
whose  authority  she  hath,  may  faithfully  serve,  honor,  and  humbly 
obey  her,  in  thee,  and  for  thee,  according  to  thy  blessed  word  and 
ordinance. — ^Amen.'  '* 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


SMALL   TALK. 


"  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  am  a-goin*  to  dine  with  PaJm — 
Lord  Palmerston,  I  uiean,  to-day,  and  arter  that  I'me  for  a  grand 
let  off  to  Belgrave  Square,"  and  then  throwing  himself  into  a  chair, 
he  said,  with  an  air  of  languor,  "  these  people  will  actually  kill  me 
with  kindness ;  I  feel  e'en  a'most  used  up, — I  want  rest,  for  I  am  up 
to  the  elbows, — I  wish  you  was  a-going,  too,  I  must  say,  for  I  should 
like  to  show  you  high  life,  but,  unfortunately,  you  are  a  colonist. 
The  British  look  down  upon  you  as  much  as  we  look  down  upon 
them,  so  that  you  are  not  so  tall  as  them,  and  a  shocking  sight  shorter 
than  us. — Lord,  I  wonder  you  keep  your  temper  sometimes,  when 
you  get  them  comphments  I've  heerd  paid  you  by  the  Whigs.  *  We'd 
be  better  without  you  by  a  long  chalk,'  they  say, '  the  colonies  cx)st 
more  than  they  are  worth.  They  only  sarve  to  involve  us  in  dis- 
putes,' and  all  such  scorny  talk ;  and  then  to  see  you  coolly  sayin', 
Great  Britain  without  her  colonies  would  be  a  mere  trunk  without 


l^lfWWpi,    P    I  .JBW||»im(FW-^T«J»|l  1,1  III        'V'^Pf  ■l"-l""'l 


1 1  ■mviii«(iiiji|in.>i  II 


1    i 


216 


THE  attache;  or, 


arms  or  legs,  and  then  cypherin'  away  at  figures,  to  show  'em  they 
are  wrong,  instead  of  givin'  'em  back  as  good  as  they  send,  or  up 
foot  and  let  'em  have  it ;  and  this  I  vvill  say  for  the  Tories,  I  have 
never  heer'd  them  talk  such  everlastin'  impudent  nonsense,  that's  a 

fact,  but  the  Whigs  is Whigs,  I  tell  you.     But  to  get  back  to 

these  parties,  if  you  would  let  me  or  your  colonial  minister  introduce 
you  to  society,  I  would  give  you  some  hints  that  would  be  useful  to 
you,  for  I  have  made  high  life  a  study,  and  my  knowledge  of  human 
natur'  and  soft  sawder  has  helped  me  amazingly.     I  know  the  inns 
and  outs  of  life  from  the  palace  to  the  log  hut.    And  I'll  tell  you 
now  what  I  call  general  rules  for  society.     First,  it  ain't  one  man 
in  a  hundred  knows  any  subject  thorough,  and  if  he  does,  it  ain't 
one  time  in  a  thousand  he  has  an  opportunity,  or  knows  how  to  avail 
it.     Secondly,  a  smatterin'  is  better  nor  deeper  knowledge  for  so- 
ciety, for  one  is  small  talk,  and  the  other  is  lecturin'.     Thirdly, 
pretendiii'  to  know,  is  half  the  time  as  good  as  knowin',  if  pretendin* 
is  done  by  a  man  of  the  world  cutely.     Fourthly,  if  any  crittur  axes 
you  if  you  have  been  here  or  there,  or  know  this  one  or  that  one,  or 
seen  this  sight,  or  t'other  sight,  always  say  yes,  if  you  can  without 
lyin',  and  then  turn  right  short  round  to  him,  and  say, '  What's  your 
opinion  on  it  ?    I  should  like  to  hear  your  views,  for  they  are  always 
so  original.*     That  saves  you  makin'  a  fool  of  yourself  by  talking 
nonsense,  for  one  thing,  and  when  a  room  ain't  overly  well  furnish- 
ed, it's  best  to  keep  the  blinds  down  in  a  general  way ;  and  it  tickles 
his  vanity,  and  that's  another  thing.     Most  folks  like  the  sound  of 
their  own  voices  better  nor  other  peoples',  and  every  one  thinks  a 
good  listener  and  a  good  laugher,  the  pleasantest  crittur  in  the  world. 
Fifthly,  lead  where  you  know,  when  you  don't,  foller,  but  soft  sawder 
always.    Sixthly,  never  get  cross  in  society,  especially  where  tie  galls 
are,  but  bite  in  your  breath,  and  swaller  all  down.     When  women  is 
by,  fend  off  with  fun ;  when  it's  only  men,  give  'em  a  taste  of  your  breed, 
delicately  like,  jist  hintin'  in  a  way  they  can't  mistake,  for  a  nod  is  as 
good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse.     Oncet  or  twice  here  to  London, 
I've  had  the  rig  run  on  me  and  our  great  nation,  among  men  till  I 
couldn't  stand  it  no  longer.    Well,  what  does  I  do, — why,  instead  of 
breakin'  out  into  an  uprorious  passion,  I  jist  work  round,  and  work 
round,  to  turn  the  talk  a  little,  so  as  to  get  a  chance  to  give  'em  a 
guess  what  sort  of  iron  I'me  made  of,  and  how  I'me  tempered,  by 
sayin'  naterally  and  accidentally  like,  *  I  was  in  Scotland  the  other 
day,  goin'  from  Kelso  to  Edinboro'.     There  was  a  good  many  men 
folk  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  as  I  didn't  know  one,  I  jist  outs 
with  a  cigar,  and  begins  to  smoke  away  all  to  myself,  for  company 
like.     Well,  one  feller  began  grumblin'  and  growhn*  about  smokin', 
how  ongenteel  it  was,  and  what  a  nuisance  it  was,  and  so  on,  and  all 
tliat,  and  more,  too,  and  then  looked  right  straight  at  me,  and  said  it 
hadn't  ought  to  be  allowed.     Well,  I  jist  took  a  squint  round,  and, 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


217 


as  I  seed  there  was  no  women  folks  present — for  if  there  had  a-been 
I'd  a-throwed  it  right  away  in  a  minit — but  as  there  warn't,  I  jist 
smoked  on,  folded  my  arms,  and  said  uothia'.  At  last,  the  crittur, 
findin'  others  agreed  with  him,  and  that  I  didn't  give  lip,  spunks  up 
to  me,  bullyin'  like,  and  sais,  '  What  would  you  think,  Sir,'  sais  he, 

*  if  I  was  to  pull  that  cigar  from  your  mouth  and  throw  it  right  down 
on  the  ground.'  '  I'll  tell  you,'  sais  I,  quite  cool, '  what  I'd  think, 
and  that  is,  that  it  would  be  most  partekilarly  d— d  odd  if  you  didn't 
touch  ground  before  the  cigar.  Try  it,'  sais  I,  puttin'  my  head  for- 
ward, so  he  might  take  it,  '  and  I'll  bet  you  five  pounds  you  are  off 
the  coach  before  the  cigar.'  I  gave  the  feller  but  one  look,  and  that 
was  wicked  enough  to  kill  the  coon,  and  skin  him,  too.  It  cut  his 
comb,  you  may  depend ;  he  hauled  in  his  horns,  mumbled  a  leetle, 
and  then  sat  as  silent  as  a  pine  stump,  and  looked  as  small  as  if  he 
was  screwed  into  an  auger  hole.  Arter  tellin'  of  tliis  story,  I  jist 
add,  with  a  smile, '  Since  the  Judges  have  given  out  here  they  in- 
tend to  hang  for  duellin',  some  folks  think  they  can  be  rude ;  but  it 
never  troubles  me.  I'me  a  good-natered  man,  and  always  was.  I 
never  could  carry  malice  till  next  day,  since  I  was  born,  so  I  punish 
on  the  spot.'  A  leetle  anecdote  like  that,  with  a  delicate  elegant 
leetle  hint  to  the  eend  on't,  stops  impudence  in  a  minit.  Yes,  that's 
a  great  rule,  never  get  cross  in  society ;  it  tante  considered  good 
breedin*. 

^  Now,  as  for  small  change  in  society,  you  know.  Squire,  I  ain't  a 
deep  lamed  man,  but  I  know  a  leetle  of  everything,  a'most,  and  I 
try  to  have  a  curious  fact  in  each,  and  that  is  my  stock  to  trade 
with.  Fust  thing  in  company  is  dress,  no  man  can  pass  muster  un- 
less he  is  fust  chop  in  that.  Hat,  gloves,  shoes,  from  Paris ;  cloths 
from  Stultz,  and  so  on,  and  then  your  outer  man  is  as  good  as  Count 
Dorsey's.  Second  thing  is  talk.  Now,  suppose  I  call  on  a  lady, 
and  see  her  at  rug-work,  or  worsteds,  or  whatever  you  call  it.  Well, 
I  take  it  up,  coolly,  and  say,  this  is  very  beautiful,  and  very  difficult, 
too,  for  that  is  the  double  cross  stitch  with  a  half  slant,  and  then 
suggest  about  tent  stich,  satin  stich,  and  so  on ;  but  above  all  I  swear 
her  stich  is  the  best  in  the  world,  whatever  it  is,  and  she  looks  all 
struck  up  of  a  heap,  as  much  as  to  say,  where  on  airth  did  you  larn 
all  that.     '  And  where  did  you  lai'n  it  ?'  I  said  in  some  surprise. 

*  From  motiier,'  she  replied.  When  she  was  a  gal  rug-work  was  all 
the  edieation  female  women  hud,  besides  house-keepin',  so,  in  course, 
she  talked  for  ever  of  the  double  cross  stich,  with  the  half  slant,  the 
fine  fern  stich,  the  finny  stich,  the  brave  bred  stich,  the  smarting 
whip  stich,  and  the  Lord  knows  how  many  stiches  ;  and  it's  a  pity 
they  hadn't  a  stich  to  it,  Squire,  for  one  half  on  'em  have  had  all  their 
natur'  druv  out  of  them  and  no  art  put  into  them,  'xcept  the  art  of 
talking,  and  acting  like  fools.  /  like  nalur'  myself ^  and  always  didy 
but  if  we  are  so  cussed  fashionable,  we  must  put  a  dress  of  our  own 

10 


mu,.,  jBJiF" 


M  IPiniUJIH" 


p.l.B|l|«^ll.^ipyPUJiT  1] 


218 


THE   ATTACHE;   OB, 


i 


on  it,  for  goodness  gracious  sake,  let  it  he  somethin*  transparent,  that 
we  may  get  a  little  peep  through  it  sometimes,  at  any  rate. 

"  Well,  then,  sposiu*  its  picturs  that's  on  the  carpet,  wait  till  you 
hear  the  name  of  the  painter.  If  it  is  Rupees,  or  any  one  of  the 
old  ones," — "  Rubens  you  mean,"  I  said. — "  Oh,  yes ;  cuss  that  word, 
I  seldom  use  it,"  he  replied,  "■  for  I  am  sure  to  make  that  mistake, 
and  therefore  I  let  others  pronounce  it  fust.  If  its  Rubens,  or  any 
o'  them  old  boys,  praise,  for  its  agin  the  law  to  doubt  them ;  but  if 
its  a  new  man,  and  the  company  ain't  most  special  judges,  criticise. 
A  leetle  out  of  keepin'  sais  you,  he  don't  use  his  grays  enough,  nor 
glaze  down  well ;  that  shadder  wants  depth ;  gineral  eflfect  is  good, 
tho'  parts  ain't ;  those  eye-brows  are  heavy  enough  for  stucco,  says 
you,  and  other  unmeanin'  terms  like  them.  It  will  pass,  I  tell  you, 
your  opinion  will  be  thought  great.  Them  that  judged  the  Carto(»), 
at  Westminster  Hall,  knew  plaguy  little  more  nor  that.  But  if 
there  is  a  portrait  of  the  lady  of  the  house  hangin*  up,  and  its  at  all 
like  enough  to  make  it  out,  stop— gaze  on  it — ^walk  back — close 
your  fingers  like  a  spy-glass,  and  look  thro'  'em  amazed  like— en- 
chanted— chained  to  the  spot.  Then  utter,  unconscious  like,  *"  that's 
a  'most  a  beautiful  pictur'; — by  Heavens  that's  a  speakin'  por- 
trait. Its  well  painted,  too ;  but,  whoever  the  artist  is,  he  is  an 
onprincipled  man.'  '  Good  gracious,'  she'll  say,  '  w  so?'  '  Because, 
Madam,  he  has  not  done  you  justice,  he  pretends  to  have  a  con- 
science, and  says  he  won't  flatter.  The  cantin*  rascal  knew  he  could 
not  add  a  charm  to  that  face  if  he  was  to  try,  and  has,  therefore, 
basely  robbed  your  countenance  to  put  it  on  to  his  character.  Out 
on  such  a  villain,'  sais  you.  '  O  Mr.  Slick,'  she'll  say,  blushin',  but 
lookin'  horrid  pleased  all  the  time, '  what  a  shame  it  is  to  be  so  severe, 
and,  besides,  you  are  not  just,  for  I  am  afeered  to  exhibit  it,  it  is  so 
flattered.'  '  Flattered  1'  sais  you,  turnin'  round,  and  lookin*  at  her, 
with  your  whole  soul  in  your  face,  all  admiration  like : — *■  flattered  ! 
— impossible,  Madam.'  And  then  turn  short  otf,  and  say  to  yourself, 
aloud, '  Heavens,  how  unconscious  she  is  of  her  own  power  I' 

"  Well,  sposin'  its  roses ;  get  hold  of  a  moss-rose  tree,  and  say, 
*  these  bushes  send  up  few  suckers ;  I'll  tell  you  how  to  propagate 
*em : — Lay  a  root  bare :  insert  the  blade  of  a  penknife  lengthwise, 
and  then  put  a  small  peg  into  the  slit,  and  cover  all  up  again,  and  it 
will  give  you  a  new  shoot  there.'  'Indeed,'  she'll  say,  'that's  worth 
knowin'.'  Well,  if  its  annuals,  say,  '  mix  sawdust  with  the  airth 
and  they'll  come  double,  and  be  of  a  better  color.*  '  Dear  me  I* 
she'll  say, '  I  didn't  know  that.'  Or  if  its  a  tree-rose,  say, '  put  a 
silver-skinned  onion  to  its  roots,  and  it  will  increase  the  flavor  of  the 
i'oses,  without  givin  out  the  leastest  mossel  in  the  world  of  its  own.' 
Or  if  its  a  tulip, '  run  a  needleful  of  yarn  thro'  the  bulb,  to  variegate 
it,  or  gome  such  little  information  as  that.'  Oh !  its  a  great  thing  to 
have  a  gineral  little  assortment,  if  its  only  one  thing  of  a  kind,  so 


SAIC  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


219 


but 


that  if  its  called  for,  you  needn't  send  your  friend  to  another  shop 
for  it.  There  is  nothin'  like  savin'  a  customer  where  you  can.  In 
small  places  they  can  sound  your  depth,  and  tell  whether  you  are  a 
deep  nine,  or  a  quarterless  six,  as  easy  as  nothin' ;  but  here  they 
can't  do  any  such  a  thing,  for  circles  are  too  large,  and  that's  the 
beauty  of  London.  You  don't  always  meet  the  same  people  here, 
and,  in  course,  can  use  the  same  stories  over  and  over  agin',  and 
not  ear-wig  folks ;  nothin'  is  so  bad  as  tellin'  the  same  story  twice. 
Now,  that's  the  way  the  Methodists  do.  They  divide  the  country 
into  circuits,  and  keep  their  preachers  a  movin'  from  place  to  place. 
Well,  each  one  has  three  or  four  crack  sermons.  He  puts  them 
into  his  port  manter,  gallops  into  a  town,  all  ready  cocked  and 
primed,  fires  them  off,  and  then  travels  on  afore  he  is  guaged  and 
his  measure  took ;  and  the  folks  say  what  a'most  a  grand  preacher 
that  is,  what  a  pleasin'  man  he  is,  and  the  next  man  fust  charms, 
and  then  breaks  their  hearts  by  goin'  away  agin'.  The  Methodists 
are  actilly  the  most  broken  hearted-people  I  ever  see.  They  are 
doomed  for  ever  to  be  partin'  with  the  cleverest  men,  the  best 
preachers,  and  the  dearest  friends  in  the  world.  I  actilly  pity  them. 
Well,  these  little  things  must  be  attended  to ;  colored  note-paper, 
filagreed  envelopes,  with  musk  inside  and  gold  wafer  outside :  deli- 
cate, refined,  and  uppercrust.  Some  fashionable  people  don't  use 
those  things,  and  laugh  at  them  little  finikin  forms.  Now  men,  and, 
above  all,  colony  men,  that's  only  half  way  between  an  African  and 
a  white  man  can't.  /  could  but  you  couldn't,  that's  the  difference. 
Yes,  Squire,  these  are  rules  worth  knowin',  they  are  founded  on  ex- 
perience, and  experience  tells  me  that  fashionable  people,  all  the 
world  over,  are,  for  the  most  part,  as  sofl  as  dough  ;  throw  'em  agin' 
the  wall  and  they  actilly  stick,  they  are  so  soft.  But,  soft  as  they 
be,  they  won't  stick  to  you  if  you  don't  attend  to  these  rules,  and, 
above  all  things,  lay  in  a  good  stock  of  soft  sawder  and  small  tcUk.'* 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

WHITE    BAIT. 


"  I  HAVE  been  looking  about  all  the  momin'  for  you.  Squire," 
said  Mr.  Slick,  "  where  on  airth  have  you  packed  yourself!  We 
are  a  goin'  to  make  up  a  party  to  Blackwall,  and  eat  white  bait, 
and  we  want  you  to  go  along  with  us.  I'll  tell  you  what  sot  me 
on  the  notion.  As  I  was  a  browsin'  about  the  park  this  forenoon, 
who  should  I  meet  but  Euclid  Hogg  of  Nahant.    <  Why,  Slick/ 


^ 


"T" 


■fW^ 


wi;ilP«ag««njKmjpiiiij,|ij|iji 


^ 


220 


THE  ATTAcni;;  or, 


says  he,  *  how  do  you  do  ?  it's  a  month  of  Sundays  a'most  since 
I've  seed  you,  sposin'  we  make  a  day  of  it,  and  go  to  Greenwich 
or  Blackwall ;  I  want  to  hear  you  talk,  and  that's  better  nor  your 
books  at  any  time.'  '  Well,'  says  I,  *  I  don't  care  if  I  do  go,  if 
Minister  will,  for  you  know  he  is  here,  and  so  is  father,  too.' 
*Your  father!'  said  he,  a-startin'  back — 'your  father  I  Land  of 
Goshen!  what  can  you  do  with  himf  and  his  eyes  stood  still, 
and  looked  inward,  as  if  reflecting,  and  a  smile  shot  right  across 
his  cheek,  and  settled  down  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  sly,  funny, 
and  wicked.  Oh !  how  it  cut  me  to  the  heart,  for  I  knowed  what 
was  a  passin'  in  his  mind,  and  if  he  had  a  let  it  pass  out,  I  would 
have  knocked  him  down — I  would,  I  sware.  'Your  father!'  said 
he.  '  Yes,*  sais  I,  *my  father,  have  you  any  objections.  Sir?'  sais  I, 
a-clinchin'  of  my  first  to  let  him  have  it  '  Oh,  don't  talk  that  way, 
Bam,' said  he, 'that's  a  good  feller,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  nothin' 
offensive,  I  was  only  a  thinkin'  what  under  the  sun  fetched  him  here, 
and  that  he  must  be  considerable  in  your  way,  that's  all.  If  re- 
peatin'  his  name  after  that  fashion  hurt  you,  why  I  feel  as  ugly 
about  it  as  you  do,  and  beg  your  pardon,  that's  all.'  Well,  nothin' 
mollifies  me  like  soft  words ;  so  says  I,  '  It  was  me  that  was  wrong, 
and  I  am  sorry  for  it ;  come,  let's  go  and  start  the  old  folks.'  '  That's 
right,'  says  he,  *  which  shall  it  be,  Greenwich  or  Blackwall  ?'  '  Black- 
wall,'  says  I, '  for  we  have  been  to  t'other  one.*  '  So  it  shall  be, 
old  feller,'  said  he, '  we'll  go  to  Lovegrove's  and  have  white  bait.' 
*  White  bait,'  says  I,  *  what's  that,  is  it  gals  ?  for  they  are  the  best 
bait  I  know  on.*  Well  I  thought  the  critter  would  have  gone  into 
fits,  he  larfed  so.  '  Well,  you  do  beat  all,  Sam,'  said  he ;  '  what  a 
droll  feller  you  be !  White  bait!  well,  that's  capital — I  don't  think 
it  would  have  raised  the  idea  of  gals  in  any  other  soul's  head  but 
your  own,  I  vow.'  I  knowd  well  enough  what  he  was  a-drivin*  at, 
for  in  course  a  man  m  fashionable  life,  like  me,  had  eat  white  bait 
dinners,  and  drank  iced  punch,  often  and  often,  tho'  I  must  say  I 
never  tasted  then*  any  where  but  on  that  part  of  the  Thames,  and 
a'most  a  grand  dish  it  is  too,  there  ain't  nothin'  equal  to  it  hardly. 
Well,  when  Euclid  had  done  lartin',  says  I, '  I'll  tell  you  what  pi '  it 
into  my  head.  When  I  was  last  to  Nova  Scotia,  on  the  Guelph 
8ho>?.  I  '^'  ;  up  to  a  farmer's  house  there,  one  Gabriel  Gab's.  All 
tiK  b  .1  baulin'  in  fish,  hand  over  hand,  like  anything.     The 

'?•;  \  re  iV  ready  to  break  with  mackerel,  for  they  were  chock 
iuil,  •.\i>xi'<^  ■>.  "-'t.  It  was  a  good  sight  lor  sore  eyes,  I  tell  you,  to 
see  tn '  ^k  •  ■^.  >ple  catchin'  dollars  that  way,  for  a  good  haul  is  like 
fishin'  up  money,  it's  so  profitable. — Fact  I  assure  you.  '  So,'  says 
I, '  Uncle  Gabe  Gab,'  cays  I, '  what  a'most  grand  haul  of  fish  you 
have,*  'Oh,  Mr.  Slick!'  sais  he,  and  he  turned  up  the  whites  of 
his  eyes  haiidsum, '  Oh !'  said  he,  (and  he  looked  good  enough  to 
out  a'most)  '  oh,  Mr.  Slick !  I'm  a  fisher  of  men,  and  not  a  fisher  of 


SAM  SLICE   IN  ENGLAND. 


S21 


£sh.'  Well,  it  made  me  mad,  for  nothin'  ryles  me  do  like  cant,  and 
the  critter  was  actilly  too  infa''nal  lazy  to  work,  and  had  took  to 
strollin'  preachin'  for  a  livin'.  *  I'me  a  fisher  of  men  and  not  a  fisher 
of  fish,'  says  he.  *  Are  you  ?'  sals  I.  '  Then  you  ought  to  be  the 
most  fortinate  one  in  these  diggins,  /  know.'  '  How  so  ?'  said  he. 
*  Why,'  sais  I,  <  no  soul  ever  fished  for  men  that  had  his  hook  sot 
with  such  beautiful  bait  as  yours,'  a-pinetin'  to  his  three  splenderi- 
ferous  gals.  Lord,  how  the  young  heifers  screamed,  and  larfed,  and 
tee-heed,  for  they  was  the  rompinest,  forredest,  tormentenest,  wildest, 
devils  ever  you  see.  It's  curous.  Squire,  ain't  it  ?  But  a  hypocrite 
father  like  Gabe  Gab  is  shure  to  have  roliickin'  frolickin'  children. 
They  do  well  enough  when  in  sight;  but  out  of  that  they  beat  all 
natur.'  Takin'  off  restraint  is  like  takin'  off  the  harness  of  a  boss ; 
how  they  race  about  the  field,  squeel,  roll  over  and  over  on  the 
grass,  and  kick  up  their  heels,  don't  they  ?  Gabe  Gab's  darters 
were  pi-oper  sly  ones,  and  up  to  all  sorts  of  mischief  when  his  back 
was  turned.    I  never  seed  them  I  didn't  think  of  the  old  song — 

'  The  darter  of  a  fisherman 

That  was  so  tall  and  slim, 
Lived  over  on  the  other  side, 

Just  opposite  to  him. 
He  saw  her  wave  her  handkercher  ■ 

As  much  as  for  to  say, 
It's  grand  time  for  courtin  now, 

For  daddy's  gone  away. 

Yes,  hypocrasy  his  enlisted  more  folks  for  old  Scratch  than  any  r«- 
cruitin*  sergeant  he  has,  that's  a  fact.  But  to  get  back  to  the  white 
bait,  we  went  and  roused  out  old  Minister  and  father,  but  father 
said  he  had  most  special  business  (tho'  what  onder  the  sun  he  is 
arter,  I  can't  make  out  for  the  life  of  me),  and  Minister  said  he 
wouldn't  go  without  you,  and  now  it's  too  late  for  to-day.  So  what 
do  you  say  to-morrow,  Squire?  Will  you  go?  That's  right;  then 
we'll  all  go  to-morrow,  and  I'll  show  you  what  *  white  baif  is." 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE   CURLING   WAVE  AND   THE   OLD   OAK  TREE. 

AccoRDiNO  to  the  arrangements  made,  as  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  we  went  to  Blackwall.  Upon  these  excursions,  when  we 
all  travelled  together,  I  always  ordered  private  apartments,  that  the 
conversation  might  be  unrestrained,  and  that  the  Ireedom  of  remark, 


"•^ 


^imm^fi^^^^^m 


w 


222 


THE  ATTAOH^;  OR, 


f 


f 


}   I 


in  which  we  indulged,  might  neither  attract  attention  nor  give 
offence.  Orders  having  been  given  for  *'  white  bait,"  Mr.  Slick  and  his 
father  walked  into  the  garden,  while  the  "  Minister"  and  myself 
were  engaged  in  conversation  on  various  topics  suggested  by  the 
moving  scene  presented  by  the  river.  Among  other  things,  he 
pointed  to  the  beautiful  pile  of  buildings  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Thames,  and  eulogised  the  munificent  provision  England  had  made 
for  the  infirmities  and  old  a;^  i  of  those  whose  lives  hud  been  spent 
in  the  service  of  the  country.  "  That  palace.  Sir,"  he  said,  "  for  dis- 
abled sailors,  and  the  other  at  Chelsea,  for  decrepid  soldiers,  splen- 
did as  they  are,  if  they  were  the  only  charitable  institutions  of  Eng- 
land, might  perhaps  be  said  to  have  had  their  origin,  rather  in  state 
policy  than  national  liberality  ;  but  fortunately  they  are  only  part 
of  an  universal  system  of  benevolence  here.  Turn  which  way  you 
^ill,  you  find  Orphan  Asylums,  Magdalen  Hospitals,  Charity 
Schools,  Bedlams,  places  of  refuge  for  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  dumb, 
the  deformed,  the  destitute,  for  families  reduced  by  misfortune,  and 
for  those  whom  crime  or  profligacy  have  punished  with  infamy  or 
disease.  For  all  classes  of  sufi'erers  charity  has  provided  a  home, 
and  kindness  a  nurse,  while  funds  have  been  liberally  bestowed  to 
encourage  talent,  and  educate,  promote,  and  reward  merit 

^  The  amount  of  capital,  permanently  invested  and  annually  sup- 
plied by  voluntary  contribution,  for  those  objects,  is  incredible. 
What  are  the  people  who  have  done  all  this  ?  and  whence  does  it 
flow  ?  They  are  Christians,  Sir.  It  is  the  fruit  of  their  religion ; 
and  as  no  other  country  in  the  world  can  exhibit  such  a  noble  spec- 
tacle—so pleasing  to  God,  and  so  instructive  and  honorable  to  man, 
it  is  fair  to  infer  that  that  religion  is  better  taught,  better  understood, 
and  better  exemplified  here  than  elsewhere.  You  shall  know  a  tree 
by  its  productions,  and  this  is  the  glorious  fruit  of  the  Church  of 
England. 

*'  Liberals  and  infidels  may  ridicule  its  connexion  with  the  State, 
and  Dissenters  may  point  to  the  Bench  of  Bishops,  and  ask  with 
ignorant  eflrontery,  whether  their  usefulness  is  commensurate  with 
their  expense.  I  point  to  their  own  establishments  and  say,  let  their 
condition  and  their  effects  be  your  answer.  I  point  to  Owen 
and  Irvin,  whom  they  impiously  cr '  iheir  apostles,  and  while  de- 
clining a  comparison,  repose  myself  un  ier  the  shadow  of  the  vene- 
rable hierarchy  of  the  Church.  The  spires  and  hospitals  and  col- 
leges so  diffusely  spread  over  this  great  country,  testify  in  its  behalf. 
The  great  Episcopal  Church  of  America  raises  its  voice  in  the  de- 
fence and  praise  of  its  parent ;  and  the  colonies  of  the  east  and  the 
west,  and  the  north  and  the  south,  and  the  heathen  everywhere 
implore  the  blessing  of  God  on  a  Church,  to  whose  liberality  alone 
they  owe  the  means  of  grace  they  now  possess.  But  this  is  not  all. 
When  asked,  where  do  you  find  a  justification  for  this  connexion,  the 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


228 


answer  is  short  and  plain,  /  pnd  it  tentten  in  the  character  of  an 
Englishman.  With  all  his  faults  of  manner,  Squire  (and  it  is  his 
manner  that  is  chiefly  reprehensible,  not  his  conduct),  show  me  a 
foreigner  from  any  nation  in  the  world,  under  any  other  form  of 
Church  government,  whose  character  stands  so  high  as  an  English- 
man's, How  much  of  greatness  and  goodness — of  liberality,  and 
of  sterling  worth,  is  conveyed  by  that  one  word.  And  yet.  Squire," 
he  said,  '*  I  would  not  attribute  all  the  elements  of  his  clmracter  to 
his  Church,  although  all  the  most  valuable  ones  unquestionably  must 
be  ascribed  to  it ;  for  some  of  them  are  to  be  traced  to  the  political  in- 
stitutions of  England.  There  are  three  things  that  mould  and  modify 
national  character — the  religion — the  constitution — and  the  climate 
of  a  country.  There  are  those  who  murmur  against  their  God,  and 
would  improve  their  climate  if  they  could,  but  this  is  impious ;  and 
there  are  those  who  would  overthrow  the  altar  and  the  throne,  in 
their  reckless  thirst  for  change,  and  this  also  is  wicked.  Avoid  the 
contamination  of  both. 

"  May  man  support  the  Church  of  God  as  here  established,  for  it 
is  the  best  that  is  known  to  the  human  race ;  and  may  God  preserve 
and  prosper  the  constitution  as  here  formed,  for  it  is  the  perfection 
of  human  wisdom." 

He  then  took  up  his  chair,  and  placing  it  directly  in  front  of  the 
open  window,  rested  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  in  some  speculation.  He  continued  in  this  state  of  abstrac- 
tion for  some  time.  I  never  disturbed  him  when  I  saw  him  in  these 
meditating  moods,  as  I  knew  that  he  sought  them  either  as  a  refuge, 
or  as  a  resource  for  the  supply  of  conversation. 

He  was  soon  doomed,  however,  to  be  interrupted  by  Mr.  Slick, 
who,  returning  with  his  father  at  once  walked  up  to  him,  and,  tap- 
ping him  on  the  shoulder,  said,  "  Come,  Minister,  what  do  you  say 
to  the  white  bait  now  ?  I'm  getting  considerable  peckish,  and  feel 
as  if  I  could  tuck  it  in  in  good  style.  A  slice  of  nice  brown  bread 
and  butter,  the  white  bait  fried  dry  and  crisp,  jist  laid  a-top  of  it, 
like  the  naked  truth,  the  leastest  mossel  in  the  world  of  cayenne,  and 
then  a  squeeze  of  a  lemon,  as  delicate  as  the  squeeze  of  a  gal's  hand 
in  courtin'  time,  and  lick !  it  goes  down  as  slick  as  a  rifle-ball ;  it 
fairly  makes  my  mouth  water  ]  And  then  arter  laying  in  a  solid 
foundation  of  that,  there's  a  glass  of  lignum-vity  for  me,  a  bottle  of 
genuine  old  cider  for  you  and  father,  and  another  of  champagne  for 
Squire  and  me  to  top  off  with,  and  then  a  cigar  all  round,  and  up 
killock  and  off  for  London.  Come,  Minister,  what  do  you  say? 
Why,  what  in  airth  ails  him.  Squire,  that  he  don't  answer  ^  He's 
off  the  handle  again  as  sure  as  a  gun.  Come,  Minister,"  he  said, 
^gain,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  "  won't  you  rise  to  my  hook,  it's 
got  white  bait  to  the  eend  on't? 

«  Oh  I"  said  he,  "  is  that  you,  Sam  ?" 


'^rm^m^ 


'fmi^' 


^^wmmnra 


224 


THE  ATTACH^!;  OR, 


I 


"  Sartain,"  he  replied,  "  at  least  what's  left  of  me.  What  under 
the  sun  have  you  been  a  thinkin'  on  so  everlastin'  deep  ?  I've  been 
a-standin'  talking  to  you  here  these  ten  minits,  and  I  believe  in  my 
soul,  you  haven't  heerd  one  blessed  word." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Sam,"  he  aid,  "  sit  down  on  this  chair.  Do  yoa 
see  that  'curling  wave?'  bei  old  it  how  it  emerges  out  of  the  mass 
of  water,  increases  as  it  rolls  tn,  rises  to  a  head,  and  then  curls  over, 
and  sinks  again  into  the  great  flood  from  which  it  was  forced  up,  and 
vanishes  from  sight  forever.  That  is  an  emblem  of  a  public  man  in 
America.  Society  there  has  no  permanency,  and  therefore  wants 
not  only  the  high  polish  that  the  attrition  of  several  generations 
gives,  but  one  of  the  greatest  stimulants  and  incentives  to  acticm 
next  to  religion  that  we  know  of — pride  of  name,  and  the  hontr  of 
an  old  family.  Now  don't  interrupt  me,  Sam ;  I  don't  mean  to  say 
that  we  haven't  polished  men,  and  honorable  men,  in  abundance.  I 
am  not  a  man  to  undervalue  my  countrymen  ;  but  then  I  am  not  so 
weak  as  you  and  many  others  are,  as  to  claim  all  the  advantages  of 
a  republic,  and  deny  that  we  have  the  unavoidable  attendant  evils  of 
one.  Don't  interrupt  me.  I  am  now  merely  stating  one  of  the 
effects  of  political  institutions  on  character.  We  have  enough  to 
boast  of;  don't  let  us  claim  all,  or  we  shall  have  everything  dis- 
puted. With  us  a  low  family  amasses  wealth,  and  educates  its  sons ; 
one  of  them  has  talent,  and  becomes  a  great  public  character.  He 
lives  on  his  patrimony,  and  spends  it ;  for,  politics  with  us,  though 
they  make  a  man  distinguished,  never  make  him  rich.  He  acquires 
a  great  name  that  becomes  known  all  over  America,  and  is  every- 
where recognized  in  Europe.  He  dies  and  leaves  some  poor  chil- 
dren, who  sink  under  the  surface  of  society  from  which  he  accident- 
ally arose,  and  are  never  more  heard  of  again.  The  pride  of  his 
name  is  lost  after  the  first  generation,  and  the  authenticity  of 
descent  is  disputed  in  the  second.  Had  our  institutions  permitted 
his  perpetuating  his  name  by  an  entailment  of  his  estate  (which 
they  do  not  and  cannot  allow),  he  would  have  preserved  his  pro- 
perty during  his  life,  and  there  would  have  arisen  among  his  descend- 
ants, in  a  few  years,  the  pride  of  name — that  pride  which  is  so  anx- 
ious for  the  preservation  of  the  purity  of  its  escutcheon,  and  which 
generates,  in  process  of  time,  a  high  sense  of  honor.  We  lose  by 
this  equality  of  ours  a  great  stimulant  to  virtuous  actions.  Now 
look  at  that  oak,  it  is  the  growth  of  past  ages.  Queen  Elizabeth 
looked  upon  it  as  we  now  do.  Race  after  race  have  beheld  it,  and 
passed  away.  They  are  gone,  and  most  of  them  are  forgotten;  but 
there  is  that  noble  tree,  so  deep  rooted,  that  storms  and  tempests 
cannot  move  it.  So  strong  and  so  sound,  that  ages  seem  rather  to 
have  increased  its  solidity  than  impaired  its  health.  That  is  an  em- 
blem of  the  hereditary  class  in  England — ^permanent,  useful,  and 


•■-f 


SAM  8LI0K  IS  ENGLAND. 


225 


ornamental ;  it  graces  the  landscape,  and  affords  shelter  and  protec- 
tion under  its  umbrageous  branches." 

**  And  pjsons  all  the  grain  ondemeath  it,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  and 
stops  the  plough  in  the  furror,  and  spiles  the  ridges,  and  attracts 
the  lightning,  and  kills  the  cattle  that  run  under  it  from  the  storm." 

''The  cattle,  Sam,"  he  mildly  replied,  "sometimes  attract  the 
lightning  that  rends  the  branches.  The  tree  does  not  destroy  the 
grass  beneath  its  shelter ;  but  nature,  while  it  refuses  to  produce 
both  in  one  spot,  increases  the  quantity  of  grain  that  is  grown  at  a 
distance,  in  consequence  of  the  protection  it  enjoys  against  the  wind. 
Thus,  while  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  affords  nurture  for  the  tree, 
and  increases  its  size,  the  shelter  of  the  tree  protects  the  grain. 
What  a  picture  of  a  nobleman  and  his  tenants !  What  a  type  of 
the  political  world  is  to  be  found  here  in  the  visible  objects  of  na- 
ture !  Here  a  man  rises  into  a  great  public  character — is  ennobled, 
founds  a  family,  and  his  posterity,  in  time  feel  they  have  the  honor 
of  several  generations  of  ancestors  in  their  keeping,  and  that  if  they 
cannot  increase,  they  must  at  least  not  tarnish,  the  lustre  of  their 
name.  What  an  incentive  to  virtuous  action !  What  an  antidote 
to  dishonor !  But  here  is  the  white  bait ;  after  dinner  we  will 
again  discourse  of  the  Curling  Wave  and  the  Old  Oak  IVee." 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


anx- 
which 
se  by 
Now 
abeth 
and 
but 
pests 
ler  to 
em- 
and 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Hopewell  resumed  the  conversation  referred 
to  in  the  last  chapter.  "  I  observed  to  you  just  now.  Squire,  that 
there  were  three  things  that  moulded  national  character;  climate, 
political  institutions,  and  religion.  These  are  curious  speculations, 
my  children,  and  well  worthy  of  study,  for  we  are  too  apt  in  this 
world  to  mistake  effect  for  cause.  Look  at  the  operation  of  climate 
on  an  Englishman.  The  cloudy  sky  and  humid  atmosphere  in  this 
country  renders  him  phlegmatic,  while  the  uncertain  and  variable 
weather,  by  constantly  driving  him  to  shelter,  induces  him  to  render 
that  shelter  as  commodious  and  agreeable  as  possible.  Hence  home 
is  predominant  with  him.  Operating  on  all  his  household  equally 
with  himself,  the  weather  unites  all  in  the  family  circle.  Hence  his 
domestic  virtues.  Restricted  by  these  circumstances,  over  which  he 
has  no  control,  to  his  own  fireside,  and  constitutionally  phlegmatic, 
as  I  have  just  observed,  he  becomes,  from  the  force  of  habit,  unwil- 
ling to  enlarge  or  to  leave  that  circle.     Hence  a  reserve  and  coldness 

10* 


^w^ 


i 


^•^!^^" 


226 


THE  ATTACHfi;  0R| 


of  manner  towards  strangers,  too  oflen  mistaken  for  the  pride  of 
home  or  purse.  His  habits  are  necessarily  those  of  business.  The 
weather  is  neither  too  hot  for  exertion,  nor  too  cold  for  exposure, 
but  such  as  to  require  a  comfortable  house,  abundance  of  fuel,  and 
warm  clothing.  His  wants  are  numerous,  and  his  exertions  must 
correspond  to  them.  He  is,  therefore,  both  indtutrtous  and  frugal. 
Cross  the  channel,  and  a  sunny  sky  produces  the  reverse.  You  have 
a  volatile  excitable  Frenchman ;  he  has  no  place  that  deserves  the 
name  of  a  home.  He  lives  in  the  gardens,  the  fields,  in  the  public 
houses,  and  the  theatres.  It  is  no  inconvenience  to  him  to  know  all 
the  world.  He  has  all  these  places  of  public  resort  to  meet  his  ac- 
quaintances in,  and  they  meet  on  equal  terms.  The  climate  is  such 
as  to  admit  of  light  clothing,  and  slight  shelter ;  food  is  cheap,  and 
but  little  more  fuel  is  required  than  what  suffices  to  dress  it ;  but 
little  exertion  is  reniMsite,  therefore,  to  procure  the  necessaries  of 
life,  and  he  is  an  idle,  thoughtless,  merry  fellow.  So  much  for  cli- 
mate, now  for  political  institutions  that  affect  character. 

''  I  need  only  advert  to  the  form  of  this  government,  a  limited 
monarchy,  which  is  without  doubt  the  best  that  human  wisdom  has 
yet  discovered,  or  that  accidental  circumstances  have  ever  conspired 
to  form.  Where  it  is  absolute,  there  can  be  no  freedom ;  where  it 
is  limited,  there  can  be  no  tyranny.  The  regal  power  here  (notwith- 
standing our  dread  of  royalty),  varies  very  little  from  what  is  found 
in  the  United  States  conducive  to  the  public  good,  to  delegate  to  the 
President.  In  one  case  the  sceptre  is  inherited  and  held  for  life,  in 
the  other  it  is  bestowed  by  election,  and  its  tenure  terminates  in  four 
years.  Our  upper  legislative  assembly  is  elective,  and  resembles  a 
large  lake  into  which  numerous  and  copious  streams  are  constantly 
pouring,  and  from  which  others  of  equal  size  are  perpetually  issuing. 
The  President,  the  Senators,  and  the  Representatives,  though  differ- 
ently chosen,  all  belong  to  one  class ;  and  are  in  no  way  distinguish- 
able one  from  the  other.  The  second  branch  of  the  legislature  in 
England  is  composed  of  nobility,  men  distinguished  alike  for  their 
learning,  their  accomplishments,  their  high  honor,  enormous  wealth, 
munificence,  and  all  those  things  that  constitute,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
world,  greatness.  The  Queen,  then,  and  all  the  various  orders  of 
nobility,  are  not  only  in  reality  above  all  others,  but  it  is  freely, 
fully,  and  cheerfully  conceded  that  they  are  so. 

"  With  us  all  religions  are  merely  tolerated,  as  a  sort  of  necessary 
evil ;  no  one  church  is  fostered,  protected,  or  adopted  by  the  State. 
Here  they  have  incorporated  one  with  the  State,  and  given  the  name 
of  the  kingdom  to  it,  to  distinguish  it  from  all  others — the  Church 
of  England.  Excuse  my  mentioning  these  truisms  to  you,  but  it  is 
necessary  to  allude  to  them,  not  for  the  purpose  of  instruction,  for 
no  one  needs  that,  but  to  explain  their  effect  on  character.  Here, 
then,  are  permanent  orders  and  fixed  institutions,  and  here  is  a  reg- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


227 


•eely, 

sary 
tate. 
Blame 
urch 

It  IS 

,  for 
ere, 
reg- 


ular well-defined  gradation  of  rank,  from  the  sovereign  on  the  throne 
to  the  country  squire ;  known  to  all,  acknowledged  by  all,  and  ap- 
proved by  all.  This  political  stability  necessarily  imparts  stability 
to  the  character,  and  the  court  and  the  peerage  naturally  infuse 
through  society,  by  the  unavoidable  influence  of  the  models  they  pre- 
sent, a  high  sense  of  honor,  elegance  of  manners,  and  great  dignity 
of  character  and  conduct.  An  English  gentleman,  therefore,  is  kind 
and  considerate  to  his  inferiors,  aflable  to  his  equals,  and  respectful 
(not  obsequious,  for  servility  belongs  to  an  absolute,  and  not  a  limit- 
ed monarchy,  and  is  begotten  of  power,  not  of  right)  to  his  superiors. 
What  is  the  case  where  there  are  no  superiors  and  no  inferiors  ? 
Where  all  strive  to  be  first  and  none  are  admitted  to  be  so ;  whero 
the  law,  in  direct  opposition  to  all  nature,  has  declared  those  to  be 
equal  wlio  are  as  unequal  in  their  talents  as  they  are  in  their  pecu- 
niary monns  ?  In  such  a  case  the  tone  may  be  called  an  average  one^ 
but  what  must  the  average  of  the  masses  be  in  intelligence,  in  mo- 
rals, in  civilization  ?  to  use  another  mercantile  phrase,  it  must  inev- 
itably be  '  beUm  pax.*  All  tliese  things  are  elements  is  the  forma- 
tion of  character,  whether  national  or  individual.  There  is  great 
manliness,  great  sincerity,  great  integrity,  and  a  great  sense  of  pro- 
priety in  England,  arising  from  the  causes  I  have  enumerated.  One 
extraordimtry  proof  of  the  wholesome  state  of  the  public  mind  here 
is,  the  condition  of  the  press. 

"  By  the  law  of  the  land,  the  liberty  of  the  press  is  here  secured 
to  the  subject.  He  lias  a  right  to  use  it,  he  is  punishable  only  for 
its  abuse.  You  would  naturally  suppose,  that  the  same  liberty  of 
the  press  in  England  and  America,  or  in  Great  Britain  and  Russia, 
would  produce  the  same  effect,  but  this  is  by  no  means  the  cose. 
Here  it  is  safe,  but  no  where  else,  not  even  in  the  Colonies.  Here 
a  Court,  an  Established  Church,  a  peerage,  an  aristocracy,  a  gentry, 
a  large  army  ond  navy,  and  last,  though  not  least,  an  intelligent, 
moral,  and  highly  respectable  middle  class,  all  united  by  one  common 
interest,  though  they  have  severally  a  distinct  sphere,  and  are  more 
or  less  connected  by  ties  of  various  kinds,  constitute  so  large,  so  pow- 
erful, and  so  influential  a  body,  that  the  press  is  restrained.  It  may 
talk  boldly,  but  it  cannot  talk  licentiously ;  it  may  talk  freely,  but 
not  seditiously.  The  good  feeling  of  the  country  is  too  strong.  The 
law  of  itself  is  everywhere  unequal  to  the  task.  There  are  some 
liberal  papers  of  a  most  demoralizing  character,  but  they  are  the  ex- 
ceptions that  serve  to  show  how  safe  it  is  to  entrust  Englishmen  with 
this  most  valuable  but  most  dangerous  engine.  In  France  these 
checks,  though  nominally  the  St.me,  scarcely  exist.  To  the  great 
body  of  the  people  a  different  tone  is  acceptable.  The  had  feeling  of 
the  country  is  too  strong. 

"  In  the  United  States  and  in  the  Colonics  these  checks  are  also 
wanting.     Here  a  newspaper  ia  often  a  joint-stock  property.    It  is 


'flPBPWP^*"^ 


\ 


228 


THE  attache;  or, 


worth  thousands  of  pounds.  It  is  edited  by  men  of  collegiate  edu* 
cation  and  first  rate  talents.  It  sometimes  reflects,  and  sometimes 
acts,  upon  the  opinions  of  the  higher  classes.  To  accomplish  this, 
its  tone  must  be  equal,  and  its  ability,  if  possible,  superior  to  that  of 
its  patrons.  In  America,  a  bunch  of  qnills  and  a  paper,  vrith  the 
promise  of  a  grocer  to  give  his  advertisements  for  insertion,  is  all 
that  is  necessary  to  start  a  newspaper  upon.  The  checks  I  have 
spoken  of  are  wanting.  This  I  know  to  be  the  case  with  us,  and  I 
am  certain  your  experience  of  colonial  affairs  will  confirm  my  asser- 
tion that  it  is  the  case  in  the  provinces  also.  Take  up  almost  any 
(I  won't  say  all,  because  that  would  be  a  gross  libel  on  both  my 
country  and  ycurs)  ;  but  take  up  almost  any  iva>isatlantic  newspaper, 
and  how  much  of  personality,  of  imputation,  of  insolence,  of  agita- 
tion, of  pandering  to  bad  passions,  is  there  to  regret  in  it  ?  The  good 
feeling  of  the  country  is  not  strong  enough  for  it.  Here  it  is  safe. 
With  us  it  is  safer  than  in  any  other  place  perhaps,  but  from  a  totally 
different  cause — ^from  the  enormous  number  that  are  published, 
which  limits  the  circulation  of  each,  distracts  rather  than  directs 
opinion,  and  renders  unity  of  design  as  well  as  unity  of  action  impos- 
sible. Vrhere  a  few  papers  are  the  organs  of  the  public,  the  public 
makes  itself  heard  and  understood.  Where  thousands  arc  claiming 
attention  at  the  same  time,  all  are  confounded,  and  in  a  m.  nnei  dis- 
regarded. But  to  leave  illustrations.  Squire,  which  are  eadless,  let 
us  consider  the  effect  of  religion  in  the  formation  of  character. 

"  The  Christian  religion  is  essentially  the  same  everywhere  ;  but 
the  form  of  Church  government,  and  the  persons  by  whom  tt  is  ad- 
ministered, modify  national  character  in  a  manner  altogether  in- 
credible to  those  who  have  not  traced  these  things  up  to  their  source 
and  down  to  their  consequences.  Now,  it  will  startle  you  no  doubt 
when  I  say,  only  tell  me  the  class  of  persons  that  the  clergy  of  a 
country  are  taken  from,  and  I  will  tell  you  at  once  the  stage  of  re- 
£aement  it  is  in. 

"  In  England  the  clergy  are  taken  from  the  gentry,  some  few  from 
the  nobility,  and  some  few  from  the  humbler  walks  of  life,  but  mainly 
from  the  gentry.  The  clergy  of  the  Church  of  England  are  gentle- 
men and  scholars.  What  an  immense  advantage  that  is  to  a  coun- 
try !  What  an  element  it  forms  in  the  refinement  of  a  nation !  when 
a  high  sense  of  honor  is  superadded  to  the  obligation  of  religion. 
France,  before  the  Revolution,  had  a  most  learned  and  accomplished 
clergy  of  gentry,  and  the  high  state  ol'  civilization  of  the  people  tes- 
tified to  their  influence.  In  the  Revolution  the  altar  was  overturned 
with  the  throne — the  priesthood  was  dispersed,  and  society  received 
its  tone  from  a  plebeian  army.  What  a  change  has  since  come  over 
the  nation.  It  assumed  an  entirely  new  character.  Some  little  im- 
provement has  taken  place  of  late ;  but  years  must  pass  away  before 
France  can  reco  v  er  the  loss  it  sustained  in  the  long-continued  ab- 


SAM   SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


229 


sence  of  its  amiable  and  enlightened  hierarchy.  A  mild,  tolerant, 
charitable,  gentle,  humble,  creed  like  that  of  a  Christian,  should  be 
taught  and  exemplified  by  a  gentleman ;  for  nearly  all  his  attributes 
are  those  of  a  Christian.  This  is  not  theory.  An  Englishman  is 
himself  a  practical  example  of  the  benefits  resulting  from  the  union 
between  the  Church  and  the  State,  and  the  clergy  and  the  gentry. 

"  Take  a  country,  where  the  small  farmers  furnish  the  ministers. 
The  people  may  be  moral,  but  they  are  not  refined ;  they  may  be 
honest,  but  they  are  hard ;  they  may  have  education,  but  they  are 
coarse  and  vulgar.  Go  lower  down  in  the  scale,  and  take  them  from 
the  peasantry.  Education  will  not  eradicate  their  prejudices,  or  re- 
move their  vulgar  errors.  They  have  too  many  feelings  and  pas- 
sions in  common  with  the  ignorant  associates  of  their  youth,  to  teach 
those,  from  whom  they  are  in  no  way  distinguished  but  by  a  little 
smattering  of  languages.  While  they  deprecate  the  aera  of  darkness, 
their  conversation,  unknown  to  themselves,  fans  the  flame  because 
their  early  training  has  made  them  regard  their  imaginary  grievances 
as  real  ones,  and  induce  them  to  bestow  their  sympathy  where  they 
should  give  their  counsel — or  to  give  their  counsel  where  they  should 
interpose  their  authority.  A  thoroughly  low-bred,  ignorant  clergy, 
is  a  sure  indication  of  the  ignorance  and  degradation  of  a  nation. 
What  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  when  any  man  can  preach,  and  when  any 
one  that  preaches,  as  in  Independent  or  Colonial  America,  can  pro- 
cure hearers ;  where  no  training,  no  learning  is  required — where  the 
voice  of  vanity,  or  laziness  is  often  mistaken  for  a  sacred  call,  where 
an  ignorant  volubility  is  dignified  with  the  name  of  inspiration — 
where  pandering  to  prejudices  is  popular,  and  where  popular  preach- 
ing is  lucrative !  How  deleterious  must  be  the  effect  of  such  a  state 
of  things  on  the  public  mind. 

"  It  is  easy  for  us  to  say,  this  constitution  or  that  constitution  is 
the  perfection  of  reason.  We  boast  of  ours  that  it  confers  equal 
rights  on  all,  and  exclusive  privileges  on  none,  and  so  on ;  but  there 
are  other  things  besides  rights  in  the  world.  In  our  government  we 
surrender  certain  rights  for  the  protection  yielded  by  government, 
and  no  more  than  is  necessary  for  this  purpose ;  but  there  are  some 
important  things  besides  protection.  In  England  they  yield  more 
to  obtain  more.  Some  concession  is  made  to  have  an  hereditary 
throne,  that  the  country  may  not  be  torn  to  pieces,  as  ours  is  every 
five  years,  by  contending  parties,  for  the  oflice  of  chief  magistrate ; 
or  that  the  nation,  like  Rome  of  old,  may  not  be  at  the  mercy  of  the 
legions.  Some  concession  is  made  to  have  the  advantage  of  an 
hereditary  peerage,  that  may  repress  the  power  of  the  crown  on  one 
side,  and  popular  aggressions  on  the  other ; — and  further  concession 
is  made  to  secure  the  blessings  of  an  Established  Church,  that  the 
people  may  not  be  left  to  themselves  to  become  the  prey  of  furious 
fanatics  like  Cromwell,  or  murderous  infidels  like  Robespierre ;  and 


-TT' 


I 


230 


THE  ATTAOHij  ;  OR, 


that  superstitious  zeal  and  philosophical  indifference  may  alike  be 
excluded  from  the  temple  of  the  Lord.  What  is  the  result  of  all 
this  concession  that  Whigs  call  expensive  machinery,  Radicals  the 
ignorant  blunders  of  our  poor  old  forefathers,  and  your  wholesale 
Reformers  the  rapacity  of  might.  What  is  the  result?  Such  a 
moral,  social,  and  political  state,  as  nothing  but  the  goodness  of  God 
could  have  conferred  upon  the  people  in  reward  for  their  many  vir- 
tues. With  such  a  climate — such  a  constitution,  and  such  a  church, 
is  it  any  wonder  that  the  national  character  stands  so  high  that,  to 
insure  respect  in  any  part  of  the  world,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say, 
^  I  am  an  Englishman.' " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


THE     PULPIT    AND    THE     PRESS. 

It  was  late  when  we  returned  to  London,  and  Mr.  Hopewell  and 
1  olonel  Slick  being  both  fatigued,  retired  almost  immediately  for  the 
night 

"  Smart  man.  Minister,"  said  the  Attache,  "  ain't  he  ?  You  say 
smart,  don't  you?  for  they  use  words  very  odd  here,  and  then  fancy 
it  is  us  talk  strange,  because  we  use  them  as  they  be.  I  met  Lady 
Charlotte  West  to-day,  and  sais  I,  '  I  am  delighted  to  hear  your 
mother  has  grown  so  clever  lately.*  *  Clever  ?'  sais  she,  and  she 
colored  up  like  anythin',  for  the  old  lady,  the  duchess,  is  one  of  the 
biggest  noodles  in  all  England — *  clever.  Sir  ?'  *  Yes,*  sais  I,  ♦  I 
heerd  she  was  layin'  all  last  week,  and  is  a-settin^  now.'  Oh,  Soli- 
man  !  how  mad  she  looked.  *■  Layin'  and  settin'.  Sir  ?  I  don't  un- 
derstand you.'  *  Why,'  sais  I, '  I  heerd  sle  kept  her  bed  last  week, 
but  i9  so  much  better  now,  she  sot  up  yesterday  and  drove  out  to- 
day.' '  Oh !  better  ?'  sais  she,  *  now  I  understand,  oh  yes !  thank 
you,  she  is  a  great  deal  better:'  and  she  looked  as  chipper  as  pos- 
sible, seein'  that  I  warn't  a  pokin'  fun  at  her.  I  guess  I  used  them 
words  wrong,  but  one  good  thing  is,  she  won't  tell  the  story,  I  know, 
for  old  marm's  sake.  I  don't  know  whether  smart  is  the  word  or 
no,  but  clever,  I  suppose,  is. 

"  Well,  he's  a  clever  old  man,  old  Minister,  too,  ain't  he  ?  That 
talk  of  his'n  about  the  curling  wave  and  national  character,  to-day, 
is  about  the  best  I've  heern  of  his  since  you  come  back  agin.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  he  carries  things  a  leetle  tco  far.  A  man  that  dives 
so  deep  into  things  is  apt  to  touch  bottom  sometimes  with  his  head, 
stir  the  mud,  and  rile  the  water  so,  he  can  hardly  see  his  way  out 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


231 


himself,  much  less  show  others  the  road.  I  guess  he  went  a  leetle 
too  low  that  time,  and  touched  the  sediment,  for  I  don't  'xactly  see 
that  all  that  follows  from  his  premises  at  all.  Still  he  is  a  book, 
and  what  he  says  about  the  pulpit  and  the  press  is  true  enough, 
that's  a  fact.  Their  influence  beats  all  natur*.  The  first  time  I 
came  to  England  was  in  one  of  our  splendid  liners.  There  was  a 
considerable  number  of  passengers  on  board,  and  among  them  two 
outlandish,  awkward,  ongainly  looking  fellers,  from  Tammer  Squat- 
ter, in  the  State  o'  Maine.  One  on  *em  was  a  preacher,  and  the 
other  a  literary  gentleman,  that  published  a  newspaper.  They  was 
always  together  a'most  like  two  oxen  in  a  parstur,  that  are  used  to 
be  worked  together.  Where  one  was  t'  other  wam't  never  at  no 
great  distance.  They  had  the  longest  necks  and  the  longest  legs  of 
any  fellers  I  ever  see — reg'lar  cranes.  S  waller  a  frog  whole  at  a 
gulp,  and  bein'  temperance  chaps,  would  drink  cold  water  enough 
arter  for  him  to  swim  in.  The  preacher  had  a  rusty  suit  of  black  on, 
that  had  grown  brown  by  way  of  a  change.  His  coat  had  been 
made  by  a  Tammer  Squatter  tailor,  that  carried  the  fashions  there 
forty  years  ago,  and  stuck  to  'em  ever  since.  The  waist  was  up 
atween  the  shoulders,  and  the  tails  short  like  a  boy's  jacket;  his 
trousers  was  most  too  tight  to  sit  down  comfortable,  and  as  they  had 
no  straps,  they  wriggled,  and  wrinkled,  and  worked  a'most  up  to 
his  knees.  Onderneath  were  a  pair  of  water-proof  boots,  big 
enough  to  wade  across  a  lake  in  a'most.  His  white  cravat  looked 
as  yaller  as  if  he'd  kept  it  in  the  smoke-house  where  he  cured  his 
hams.  His  hat  was  a  yaller  white,  too,  enormous  high  in  the  crown, 
and  enormous  short  in  the  rim,  and  the  nap  as  close  fed  down  as  a 
sheep  pastur' — ^you  couldn't  pull  enough  off  to  clot  your  chin,  if  you 
had  bcratched  it  in  shavin'.  Walkin'  so  much  in  the  woods  in  narrow 
paths,  he  had  what  we  call  the  surveyor's  gait ;  half  on  him  went 
first  to  clear  the  way  thro'  the  bushes  for  t'  other  half  to  follow— 
his  knees  aiid  his  shoulders  bein'  the  best  part  of  a  yard  before  him. 
If  he  wam't  a  droll  boy  it's  a  pity.  When  he  wam't  a  talkin'  to 
the  editor,  he  was  walkin'  the  deck  and  studyin'  a  book  for  dear  life, 
sometimes  a  lookin'  at  it,  and  then  holdin'  it  down  and  repeatin',  and 
then  lookin*  agin  for  a  word  that  had  slipt  thro'  his  fingers.  Con- 
found him,  he  was  always  runnin'  agin  me,  most  knockin'  me  down ; 
so  at  last,  *  stranger,'  sais  I,  *  you  always  talk  when  you  sit,  and 
always  read  when  you  walk ;  now  jist  revarse  the  thing,  and  make 
use  of  your  eyes,  or  some  of  them  days  you'll  break  your  nose.'  *  I 
thank  you  for  the  hint,  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  *  I'U  take  your  advice.* 

*  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  I, '  why,  how  do  you  know  me  ?'    '  Oh,'  sais  he, 

*  everybody  knows  you,  I  was  told  when  I  came  on  board  you  was 
the  man  that  wrote  the  Clockmaker,  and  a  very  cute  book  it  is  too ; 
a  great  deal  of  human  natur'  in  it.  Come,  s'pose  we  sit  down  and 
talk  a  leetle.'    Sais  I, '  that  must  be  an  entertainin'  book  you  are 


vmm'm'.myr'      "'!■./    ^jw^h'pwi"   »"|"»ji" 


wf^^mw 


28^ 


tHE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


a-readin*  of — ^what  is  it  ?'  *  Why,'  sais  he,  *  it'a  a  Hebrew  Gram- 
mar.' '  A  Hebrew  Grammar,'  sais  I,  *  why  what  on  airth  do  you 
larn  Hebrew  for  ?'  Says  he,  '  I'm  a-goin'  to  the  Holy  Land  for  the 
sake  of  my  health,  and  I  want  to  lam  a  leetle  of  their  gibberish 
afore  I  go.'  '  Pray,'  sais  I, '  'xcuse  me,  stranger,  but  what  line  are 
you  in  ?'  *  I'm,*  sais  he,  *  a  leader  of  the  Christian  band  at  Tammer 
Squatter.'  *  Can  you  play  the  key  bugle  ?'  sais  I,  *  I  have  one  here, 
and  it  sounds  grand  in  the  open  air ;  it's  loud  enough  to  give  a  pole- 
cat the  ague.  What  instruments  do  you  play  on  ?  Oh,  lord !'  sais 
I,  *  let's  have  the  gals  on  deck,  and  get  up  a  dance.  Have  you  a 
fiddle  ?'  *  Oh,*  sais  he,  '  Mr.  Slick,  don't  bamm,  I'm  a  minister.' 
*  Well,  why  the  plague  didn't  you  say  so,'  sais  I,  *  for  I  actilly  mis- 
understood you,  I  did  indeed.  I  know  they  have  a  black  band  at 
Boston,  and  a  capital  one  it  is  too,  for  they  have  most  excellent  ears 
for  music  has  those  niggers,  but  then  they  pyson  a  room  so,  yoii  can't 
set  in  it  for  five  minutes ;  and  they  have  a  white  band,  and  they  are 
Christians,  which  them  oncircumcised  imps  of  darkness  ain't ;  and  I 
swear  to  man,  I  thought  you  meant  you  was  a  leader  of  one,  of  those 
white  Christian  bands.'  '  Well,'  sais  he, '  I  used  that  word  leader 
because  it's  a  humble  word,  and  I  am  a  humble  man ;  but  minister 
is  better,  'cause  it  ain't  open  to  such  a  droll  mistake  as  that,'  He 
then  up  and  told  me  he  was  in  delicate  health,  and  the  Tammer 
Squatter  ladies  of  his  congregation  had  subscribed  two  thousand 
dollars  for  him  to  take  a  tower  to  Holy  Land,  and  then  lecturin'  on 
it  ne  t  winter  for  them.  *  Oh !'  sais  I,  *  I  see  you  prefer  bein'  paid 
for  umission  better  than  a  mission.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  *  we  aim  it, 
and  work  awful  hard.  The  other  day  as  I  passed  thro'  Bosting,  the 
reverend  Mr.  Funnyeye  sais  to  me — Hosia,  sais  he,  I  envy  you  your 
visit.  I  wish  I  could  get  up  a  case  for  the  women  too,  for  they 
would  do  it  for  me  in  a  minnit ;  but  the  devil  of  it  is,  sais  he,  I  have 
a  most  ungodly  appetite,  and  am  so  distressin'  well,  and  look  so 
horrid  healthy,  I  am  afeerd  it  won't  go  down.  Do  give  me  a  receipt 
for  lookin'  pale. — Go  to  Tammer  Squatter,  sais  I,  and  do  my  work 
in  my  absence,  and  see  if  the  women  won't  work  you  oflf  your  legs 
in  no  time ;  women  haven't  no  marcy  on  bosses  and  preachers. 
They  keep  *em  a  goin*  day  and  night,  and  think  they  can't  drive  *em 
fast  enough.  In  long  winter  nights,  away  back  in  the  country  there, 
they  ain't  content  if  they  havn't  strong  hyson  tea,  and  preachin' 
every  night ;  and  no  mortal  man  can  stand  it,  unless  his  lungs  was 
as  strong  as  a  blacksmith's  bellows  is.  They  ain't  stingy  though,  I 
tell  you,  they  pay  down  handsome,  go  the  whole  figur',  and  do 
the  thing  genteel.  Two  thousand  dollars  is  a  pretty  little  sum,  ain't 
it?  and  I  needn't  come  back  till  it's  gone.  Back-wood  preachin* 
is  hard  work,  but  it  pays  well  if  there  ain't  too  many  feedin'  in  the 
same  pastur'.  There  ain't  no  profession  a'most  in  all  our  country 
that  gives  so  much  power,  and  so  much  influepce  as  preachin.'    A 


AT 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


288 


pop^a^  preacher  can  do  an3rthing,  especially  if  he  is  wise  enough  to 
be  a  comfort,  and  not  a  caution  to  sinners.' 

"  Well,  the  Editor  looked  like  a  twin-brother.  He  wore  a  long 
loose  brown  great-coat,  that  hung  down  to  his  heels.  Once  on  a 
time  it  had  to  moujit  guard  over  an  under-coat ;  now  it  was  pro- 
moted. His  trowsers  was  black,  and  shined  in  the  sun  as  if  they 
had  been  polished  by  mistake  for  his  boots.  They  was  a  leetle  of 
the  shortest,  too,  and  show'd  the  rim  of  a  pair  of  red  flannel  drawers, 
tied  with  white  tape,  and  a  pair  of  thunder  and  lightning  socks.  He 
wore  no  shoes,  but  only  a  pair  of  Indian  Rubbers,  that  was  too  big 
for  him,  and  every  time  Bb  took  a  step,  it  made  two  beats,  one  for 
the  rubber,  and  the  other  for  the  foot,  so  that  it  sounded  like  a  four- 
footed  beast. 

"  They  were  whappers,  you  may  depend.  They  actilly  looked 
like  young  canoes.  Every  now  and  then  he'd  slip  on  the  wet  deck, 
pull  his  foot  out  of  the  rubber,  and  then  hop  on  one  leg  to  t'other 
side,  'till  it  was  picked  up  and  handed  to  him.  His  shirt  collar 
nearly  reached  his  ear,  and  a  black  stock  buckled  tight  round  his 
throat,  made  his  long  neck  look  as  if  it  had  outgrown  its  strength, 
and  would  go  into  a  decline,  if  it  didn't  fill  out  as  it  grew  older. 
When  he  was  in  the  cabin  he  had  the  table  covered  with  long  strips 
of  printed  paper  that  looked  like  columns  cut  out  of  newspapers. 
He,  too,  had  got  on  a  mission.  He  was  a  delegate  from  the  Tammer 
Squatter  Anti-Slavery  Society  that  had  subscribed  to  send  him  to 
attend  the  general  meetin'  to  London.  He  was  full  of  importance, 
and  generally  sat  armed  with  two  steel  pens ;  one  in  his  hand,  for 
use,  and  another  atween  his  ear  and  his  head,  to  relieve  guard  when 
the  other  was  off  duty.  He  was  a  composin'  of  his  speech.  He 
would  fold  his  arms,  throw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  look  intently 
at  the  ceiling,  and  then  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  caught  an  idea  by  the 
tail,  bend  down  and  write  as  fast  as  possible,  until  he  had  recorded 
it  for  ever.  Then,  relapsin'  again  into  a  brown  study,  he  would 
hum  a  tune  until  another  bright  thought  again  appeared,  when  he'd 
pounce  upon  it  like  a  cat,  and  secure  it.  If  he  didn't  make  faces, 
it's  a  pity,  workin'  his  lips,  twitchin'  his  face,  winkin*  his  eye,  lightin* 
up  his  brows,  and  wrinklin'  his  forehead,  awful.  It  must  be  shock- 
ing hard  work  to  write,  I  tell  you,  if  all  folks  have  such  a  time  on  it 
as  he  had.  At  last,  he  got  his  speech  done,  for  he  ginn  over  writin', 
and  said  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  He  supposed  it  would  cost  the 
Union  the  loss  of  the  Southern  States,  but  duty  must  be  done. 
Tammer  Squatter  was  not  to  be  put  down  and  terrified  by  any 
power  on  airth.  One  day,  as  I  was  a  laying  on  the  seats,  taking  a 
stretch  for  it,  I  heerd  him  say  to  the  Preacher,  *  You  have  not  done 
your  duty.  Sir.  The  Pulpit  has  left  abolition  to  the  Press.  The 
Press  is  equal  to  it,  Sir ;  but,  of  course,  it  will  require  longer  time 
to  do  it  in.    They  should  have  gone  together,  Sir,  in  the  great 


mH-f    ^l>iii(i|lJ> uimiuinHigHpB 


T 


284 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


I  : 


cause.  I  shall  tell  the  Christian  ministry  in  my  speech,  they  have 
not  sounded  the  alarm  as  faithful  sentinels.  I  suppose  it  will  bring 
all  the  churches  of  the  Union  on  me,  but  the  Press  is  able  to  bear  it 
alone.  It's  unfair,  tho'.  Sir,  and  you  don't  know  your  power.  The 
Pulpit  and  the  Press  can  move  the  world.  That,  Sir,  is  the  Archi- 
medean lever.*  The  crittur  was  right.  Squire,  if  two  such  gonies  as 
them  could  talk  it  into  'em,  and  write  it  into  'em,  at  such  an  out- 
landish place  as  Tammer  Squatter,  that  never  would  have  been 
heerd  of  to  the  sea-board,  if  it  hadn't  a-been  the  boundary  question 
made  it  talked  of;  and  one  on  'em  got  sent  to  Holy  Latd,  'cause  he 
guessed  he  looked  pale,  and  k.iow'd  he  felt  lazy,  and  t'other  sent  to 
have  a  lark  to  London,  or  oiness  all  the  world  kno>  s  London 

hante  got  nothin'  to  do  wi  J  ^a;  .hen,  there  can't  be  be<  -er  proof 
of  the  power  of  the  Pulpii  and  the  Press  than  that.  Influence  is 
one  thing,  and  power  another.  Influence  is  nothin',  any  man  can 
get  votes;  with  us,  we  give  their  awa;  f  r  they  ain't  worth  sellin'. 
But  power  is  shown  in  makin'  IoILh  sU^'A)  ojt  their  money;  and 
more  nor  half  the  subscriptions  in  the  v.  orld  are  preached  out  of 
folks,  or  *  pressed '  out  of  'em — that's  a  fact.  I  wish  they  would  go 
in  harness  together  always,  for  we  couldn't  do  without  either  on 
them ;  but  the  misfortune  is,  that  the  Pulpit,  in  a  gineral  way,  pulls 
agin'  the  Press,  and  if  ever  it  succeeds,  the  world,  like  old  Rome, 
will  be  all  in  darkness,  and  bigotry  and  superstition  will  cover  the 
land.  Without  the  Pulpit,  we  should  be  heathens;  without  the 
Press,  we  should  be  slaves.  It  becomes  .us  Protestants,  to  support 
one,  and  to  protect  the  other.  Yes!  they  are  great  engines,  are  the 
Fvlpit  and  the  Press'* 


CHAPTER    XL. 


I 


WATERLOO   AND    BUNKER-HILL. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  this  morning.  Colonel  Slick  left  the 
bouse,  as  usual  alone.  Ever  since  his  arrival  in  London,  his  con- 
duct has  been  most  eccentric.  He  never  informs  his  son  where  he 
is  going,  and  very  seldom  alludes  to  the  business  that  induced  him 
to  come  to  England,  and  when  he  does,  he  studiously  avoids  any 
explanation.  I  noticed  the  distress  of  the  Attach^,  who  evidently 
fears  that  he  is  deranged ;  and  to  divert  his  mind  from  such  a  pain- 
ful subject  of  conversation,  asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  in  Ireland 
during  my  absence. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  '•  you  must  go  to  Ireland,  Squire.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  countries  in  the  -world, — ^few  people  see  it,  because 


SAM   SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


285 


they  fear  it.  I  don't  speak  of  the  people,  for  agitation  has  ruined 
them :  but  I  speak  of  the  face  of  natur',  for  that  is  the  work  of  God. 
It  is  splendid — ^that's  a  fact.  There  is  more  water  there  than  in 
England,  and,  of  course,  more  light  in  the  landscape.  Jts  features 
are  bolder,  and,  of  course,  more  picturesque.  Oh,  you  must  see 
Killamey, — we  haven't  nothin'  to  compare  to  it.  The  Scotch  lakes 
ain't  fit  to  be  named  on  the  same  day  with  it, — our'n  are  longer  and 
broader,  and  deeper  and  bigger,  and  everything  but  prettier.  I 
don't  think  there  is  nothin'  equal  to  it.  Loch  Katrein  and  Loch 
Lomond  have,  been  bedeviled  by  poets,  who  have  dragged  all  the 
world  there  to  disappoint  'em,  and  folks  come  away  as  mad  as  hatters 
at  bein'  made  fools  of,  ♦vhen,  if  they  had  been  let  alone,  they'd  a-lied  as 
bad  perhaps  as  the  poets  have,  and  overpraised  them  themselves  most 
likely.  If  you  want  a  son  not  to  fall  in  love  with  any  splenderiferous 
gall,  praise  her  up  to  the  skies,  call  her  an  angel,  say  she  is  a  whole 
team  and  a  horse  to  spare,  and  all  that :  the  moment  the  crittur  sees  her, 
he  is  a  little  grain  disappointed,  and  says,  *  Well,  she  is  handsome,  that's 
a  fact,  but  she  is  not  so  very,  very  everlastin*  pretty  arter  all.'  Then,  he 
criticises  her : — *  Her  foot  is  too  thick  in  the  instep — her  elbow  bone 
is  sharp— she  rouges— ^is  affected,  and  so  on ;'  and  the  more  you  op- 
pose him,  the  more  he  abuses  her,  till  he  swears  she  is  misreported, 
and  ain't  handsome  at  all ; — say  nothin'  to  him,  and  he  is  spooney 
over  head  and  ears  in  a  minute ;  he  sees  all  beauties  and  no  defects, 
and  is  for  walkin'  into  her  affections  at  oncet.  Nothin'  damages  a 
gall,  a  preacher,  or  a  lake,  like  over-praise  ;  a  boss  is  one  of  the  on- 
Uest  things  in  natur'  that  is  helpet  by  it.  Now  Killamey  ain't  over- 
praised— it  tante  praised  half  enough ; — the  Irish  praise  it  about  the 
toploftiest,  the  Lord  knows — but  then  nobody  minds  what  they  say 
— they  blarney  so  like  mad.  But  it's  safe  from  the  poets.  My 
praise  won't  hurt  it,  'cause  if  I  was  to  talk  till  I  was  hoarse,  I 
couldn't  persuade  people  to  go  to  a  country  where  the  sting  was 
taken  out  of  the  snakes,  and  the  pyson  out  of  the  toads,  and  the 
venom  out  of  reptiles  of  all  kinds,  and  given  to  whigs,  demagogues, 
agitators,  radicals,  and  devils  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  who  have  biled 
it  down  to  an  essence,  and  poured  it  out  into  the  national  cup,  until 
all  them  that  drink  of  it  foam  at  the  mouth  and  rave  like  madmen. 
But  you  are  a  stranger,  and  no  one  there  will  hurt  the  hair  of  a 
stranger's  head.  It's  only  each  other  they're  at.  Go  there  and  see 
it.  It  was  Minister  sent  me  there.  Oh,  how  he  raved  about  it  I 
*  Gro,'  said  he,  *  go  there  of  a  fine  day,  when  the  Lake  is  sleeping  in 
the  sunbeams,  and  the  jealous  mountain  extends  its  shadowy  veil,  to 
conceal  its  beautiful  bosom  from  the  intrusive  gaze  of  the  stranger. 
Gro  when  the  light  silvery  vapor  rises  up  like  a  transparent  scarf,  and 
folds  itself  round  the  lofty  summit  of  Mangerton,  till  it  is  lost  in  the 
fleecy  clouds  of  the  upper  regions.  Rest  on  your  oars,  and  drif^ 
slowly  down  to  the  base  of  the  cliff,  and  give  utterance  la  the  emo- 


236 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


r  I 


tions  of  your  heart,  and  say,  '  Oh,  God,  how  beautiful  I'  and  your 
voice  will  awaken  the  sleeping  echoes  from  their  drowsy  caverns, 
and  every  rock  and  every  cave,  and  every  crag,  and  every  peak  of 
the  mountain  will  respond  to  your  feelings,  and  echo  back  in  a  thou- 
sand voices,  *  Oh,  God,  how  beautiful  !*  Then  trim  your  bark  to  the 
coming  breeze,  and  steer  for  Muckross  Abbey.  Pause  here  again, 
to  take  a  last,  long,  lingering  took  at  this  scene  of  loveliness — and 
with  a  mind  thus  elevated  and  purified,  turn  from  nature  to  nature's 
God,  and,  entering  upon  the  awful  solitude  that  reigns  over  this  his 
holy  temple,  kneel  on  its  broken  altar,  and  pray  to  Him  that  made 
this  island  so  beautiful,  to  vouchsafe  in  his  goodness  and  mercy  to 
make  it  also  tranquil  and  happy.  Go,'  he  said,  *  and  see  it  as  I  did, 
at  such  a  time  as  this,  and  then  tell  me  if  you  were  not  reminded  of 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  the  passage  of  light  whereby  Angels 
descended  and  ascended, — when  man  was  pure  and  woman  in- 
nocent.' "  - 

"Well  done,  Mr.  Slick,"  I  said,  "that's  the  highest  flight  I 
ever  heard  you  undertake  to  commit  to  memory  yet.  You  are 
really  quite  inspired,  and  in  your  poetry  have  lost  your  provin- 
cialism." 

"  My  pipe  is  out.  Squire,"  he  said,  "  I  forgot  I  was  talkin'  to  you  j 
I  actilly  thought  I  was  a  talkin'  to  the  galls ;  and  they  are  so  roman- 
tic, one  must  give  *em  a  touch  above  common,  'specially  in  the  high 
circles  I'me  in.  Minister  always  talks  like  a  book,  and  since  you've 
been  gone  I  have  been  larnin'  all  our  own  n&tive  poets  over  and 
over,  so  as  to  get  pieces  by  heart,  and  quote  'em,  and  my  head  runs 
that  way  like.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  think  I  could  write  it  my- 
self, if  it  would  pay,  and  was  worth  while,  which  i%  ain't,  and  I  had 
nothin'  above  partickelar  to  do,  which  I  have.  I  am  glad  you 
checked  me,  tho'.  It  lowers  one  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners  to  talk 
gallish  that  way  to  men.  But  raelly  it  is  a  fust  chop  place ;  the  clear 
thing,  rael  jam,  and  no  mistake ;  you  can't  ditto  Killarney  nowhere, 
I  know." 

•^Here  the  Colonel  entered  abruptly,  and  said,  "  I  have  seed  him, 
Sam,  I  have  seed  him,  my  boy." 

"  Seen  whom  ?"  said  the  Attache. 

"  "Why  Gineral  Wellington,  to  be  sure,  the  first  man  of  the  age, 
and  well  worth  seein'  he  is  too,  especially  to  a  military  man  like  me. 
What's  a  prize  ox  to  him,  or  a  calf  with  two  heads,  or  a  caravan,  or 
any  other  living  show  ?" 

"  Whj'  surely,  father,  you  haven't  been  there  to  his  house,  have 
you  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  have.  What  do  you  think  I  came  here  for,  but  to 
attend  to  a  matter  of  vast  importance  to  me  and  you,  and  all  of  us ; 
and,  at  spare  time,  to  see  the  Tunnel,  and  the  Gineral,  and  the 
Queen,  and  the  Tower,  and  such  critturs,  eh?    Seen  him,  why,  in 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


237 


I  you 

'  talk 

clear 

vhere, 

him, 


course  I  have ;  I  went  to  the  door  of  his  house,  and  a  good  sizable 
one  it  is  too,  most  as  big  as  a  state-house,  (only  he  has  made  the 
front  yard  look  like  a  pound,  with  them  horrid  nasty  great  ugly 
barn-yard  gates,)  and  rung  the  bell,  and  sais  a  gentleman  that  was 
there,  ♦  Your  name,  Sir,  if  you  please ;'  Lieutenant-Colonel  Slick,' 
sais  I,  *  one  of  the  Bunker  Hill  heroes.'  '  Walk  in  here.  Sir,"  sais 
he, '  and  I'll  see  if  his  Grace  is  at  home,'  and  then  in  a  minute  back 
he  comes,  and  treats  me  most  respectful,  I  must  say,  bowin'  several 
times,  and  sais  *  this  way.  Sir,'  and  he  throws  open  a  door  and  bawls 
out, '  Lieutenant-Colonel  Slick.'  When  I  come  in,  the  Gineral  was 
a  sittin'  down,  readin',  but  as  soon  as  he  heerd  my  name,  he  laid 
down  the  paper  and  rose  up,  and  I  stood  still,  threw  up  old 
Liberty,  (you  know  I  call  this  here  old  staff  old  Liberty,  for 
it  is  luade  out  of  the  fust  liberty  pole  ever  sot  up  in  SlickviUe,) — 
and  stood  on  the  salute,  as  we  officers  do  in  reviews  on  Independ- 
ence day,  or  at  gineral  trainin's.  When  he  seed  that,  he  started  like. 
'  Don't  be  skeered,'  sais  I,  '  Gineral,  don't  be  skeered ;  I  ain't  a 
goin'  for  to  hurt  you,  but  jist  to  salute  you  as  my  senior  officer,  for 
it  tante  often  two  such  old  heroes  like  you  and  me  meet,  I  can  tell 
you.  You  fit  at  Waterloo,  and  I  fit  at  Bunker's  Hill ;  you  whipt 
the  French,  and  we  whipt  the  English ;  p'raps  history  can't  show 
jist  two  such  battles  as  them ;  they  take  the  rag  off,  quite.  I  was  a 
Sargint,  then,'  sais  I.  '  So  I  should  think,'  sais  he.  '  Strange, 
Squire,  ain't  it,  a  military  man  can  tell  another  military  with  half 
an  eye  ? — '■  So  I  should  think,'  sais  he. — There  ain't  no  deceivin'  of 
them.  They  can  tell  by  the  way  you  stand,  or  walk,  or  hold  your 
head ;  by  your  look,  your  eye,  your  voice  ;  by  everythin ;  there  is 
no  mistake  in  an  old  veteran.  *■  So  I  should  think'  sais  he.  '  But 
pray  be  seated.  I  have  seen  your  son,  Sir,'  sais  he,  '  the  Attach^  ; 
he  has  afforded  us  a  great  deal  of  amusement.'  '  Sam  is  a  cute  man, 
Gineral,'  sais  I, '  and  always  was  from  a  boy.  It's  ginerally  allowed 
a  man  must  rise  airly  in  the  momin'  to  catch  him  asleep,  I  can  tell 
you.  Tho'  I  say  it  that  shouldn't  say  it,  seein'  that  I  am  his  father ; 
he  is  a  well-informed  man  in  most  things.  He  is  a'most  a  gr.jid 
judge  of  a  boss,  Gineral :  he  knows  their  whole  shape,  make,  and 
breed ;  there's  not  a  p'int  about  one  he  don't  know  ;  and  when  he  is 
mounted  on  '  Old  Clay,'  the  way  he  cuts  dirt  is  cautionary ;  he  can 
make  him  pick  up  miles  with  his  feet,  and  throw  'em  behind  him 
faster  than  any  boss  that  ever  trod  on  iron.  He  made  them  stare  a 
few  in  the  colonies,  I  guess.  It  ain?t  every  corn-field  you  can  find  a 
man  in  'xactly  like  him,  I  can  tell  you.  He  can  hoe  his  way  with 
most  any  one  I  ever  see.  Indeed  few  men  can  equal  him  in  homed 
cattle,  either ;  he  can  lay  an  ox  with  most  men ;  he  can  actilly  tell 
the  weight  of  one  to  five  pounds.  There  is  no  homed  cattle  here, 
tho',  for  it's  all  liousen.'  *  There  are  more  in  the  high  circles  he 
moves  in,'  sais  the  Gineral,  smilin', '  than  you  would  suppose.'    Ob, 


238 


THE  ATTACH^!;   OR, 


he  smiled  pretty  I  he  don't  look  so  fierce  as  you'd  guess  that  an  old 
hero  would.  It's  only  ensigns  do  that,  to  look  big.  *  There  are 
more  in  the  high  circles  he  moves  in,'  sais  the  Gineral  smilin',  *  than 
you  would  suppose.'  *  There  mought  be,'  sais  I,  '  but  I  don't  see 
none  on  'em,  for  the  high  circles  are  all  big  squares  here,  and  the 
pastur's  are  all  built  over,  every  inch  on  'em,  with  stone  and  brick. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  get  some  of  the  calves,  they  would  improve  the 
breed  to  Slickville  amazingly.  Sam  sent  me  a  Bedford  pig,  last  year, 
and  raelly  it  was  a  sight  to  behold ;  small  bone,  thick  j'int,  short  neck, 
broad  on  the  back,  heavy  on  the  ham,  and  took  next  to  nothin  to 
feed  him,  nother ;  I  sold  the  young  ones  for  twenty  dollars  a-piece, 
I  did  upon  my  soul,  fact,  I  assure  you,  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it. 

" '  Well,  well,'  says  I,  '  only  think,  that  I,  a  hero  of  Bunker  Hill, 
should  have  lived  to  see  the  hero  of  Waterloo.  I  wish  you  would 
shake  hands  along  with  me,  Gineral,  it  will  be  somethin  to  brag  of, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  it  will  show  our  folks  you  have  forgiven  us.'  '  For- 
given you  ?'  said  he,  lookin'  puzzled.  '  Yes,'  says  I, '  forgiven  us  for 
the  almighty  everlastin'  whippin'  we  give  you  in  the  Revolutionary 
war.'  '  Oh !'  said  he,  smilin'  again, '  now  I  understand— oh  1  quite 
forgiven,  I  assure  you,'  sais  he,  *  quite.'    '  That's  noble,'  sais   I, 

*  none  but  a  brave  man  forgives — ^a  coward,  Gineral,  never  does  ;  a 
brave  man  knows  no  fear,  and  is  above  all  revenge.  That's  very 
noble  of  you,  it  shows  the  great  man  and  the  hero.  It  was  a  tre- 
mendous fight  that,  at  Bunker  Hill.  We  allowed  the  British  to 
come  on  till  we  seed  the  whites  of  their  eyes,  and  then  we  let  'em 
have  it.  Heaven  and  airth  I  what  capers  the  first  rank  cut,  jumpin', 
rearin',  plungin',  staggerin',  fallin' ;  then,  afore  they  formed  afresh, 
we  laid  it  into  'em  agin  and  agin,  till  they  lay  in  winrows  like.  P'raps 
nothin'  was  ever  seen  done  so  beautiful  in  this  blessed  world  of  our'n. 
There  was  a  doctor  from  Boston  commanded  us,  and  he  was  unfor- 
tunately killed  there.  Tho'  it's  an  ill  wind  that  don't  blow  some- 
body good  ;  if  the  doctor  hadn't  got  his  flint  fixed  there,  p'raps  you'd 
never  a-heerd  of  Washington.  But  I  needn't  tell  you,  in  course 
you  know  all  about  Bunker  Hill ;  every  one  has  heerd  tell  of  that 
sacred  spot.'  '  Bunker  Hill  1  Bunker  Hill !'  sais  the  Gineral,  pre- 
tendin'  to  roll  up  his  eyes,  Bunker  Hill  ? — I  think  I  have — where  is 
it  ?'  *  Where  is  it,  eh  ?'  sais  I.  *  So  you  never  heerd  tell  of  Bun- 
ker Hill,  eh  ?  and  p'raps  you  never  heerd  tell  of  Lexington,  nother  ?* 

*  Why,'  sais  he,  *  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Colonel  Slick,  the  life  I  have 
led  has  been  one  of  such  activity,  I  have  had  no  time  to  look  into  a 
lexicon  since  I  give  up  schoolin',  and  my  Greek  is  rather  rusty  I 
confess.'  Why,  damnation !  man,'  sais  I, '  Lexington  ain't  in  any  of 
them  Greek  republics  at  all,  but  in  our  own  everlastin'  almighty  one.' 

*  P'raps  you  mean  Vinegar  Hill,'  sais  he,  '  where  the  rebels  fought, 
in  Ireland  ?  It  is  near  Inniscorthy.  '  Vinegar  devil,'  says  I,  ibr  I 
began  to  get  wrathy  for  to  oome  for  to  go  for  to  pertend  that  way. 


SAM  BUCK  IN  ENGLAND. 


289 


em 


I  don't  wonder  it  is  Bour  to  you,  and  the  Vinegar  has  made  your 
memory  a  little  mothery.  No,  it  ain't  in  Ireland  at  all,  but  in  Mas- 
sachusetta,  near  Boston.'  '  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  sais,  '  Oh, 
yes  I  I  do  recollect  now ;  Oh  yes !  the  Americans  fought  well  there, 
very  well  indeed.*  *  Well,  Sir,'  Bais  I,  *  I  was  in  that  great  and  glo- 
rious battle ;  I  am  near  about  the  sole  survivor — the  only  one  to  tell 
the  tale.  I  am  the  only  man,  I  guess,  that  can  say, — ^I  have  seed 
Waterloo  and  Bunker  Hill — Wellington  and  Washington.  (I  put 
them  too  forrard  first,  tho'  our'n  was  first  in  time  and  first  in  renown, 
for  true  politeness  always  says  to  the  stranger,  after  you.  Sir,  is  man- 
ners.) And  I  count  it  a  great  privilege  too,  I  do  indeed,  Gineral. 
I  heerd  of  you  afore  I  come  here,  I  can  tell  you ;  your  name  is  wel) 
known  to  Slickville,  I  assure  you.'  '  Oh,  I  feel  quite  flattered !'  said 
Duke.  '  Sam  has  made  you  known,  I  can  assure  you.  Indeed,' 
sais  he,  smilin',  fthere  ain't  nothin'  ferocious  about  that  man,  I  can 
tell  you^, '  I  am  very  much  indebted  to  your  son.'  He  did  upon  my 
soul,  them  were  his  very  words, '  I  am  very  much  indebted  to  your 
son.'  I  hope  I  may  be  darned  to  darnation  if  he  didn't, '  very  much 
indebted,'  he  said.  *  Not  at  all,'  sais  I,  '  Sam  would  do  that,  and 
twice  as  much  for  you  any  day.  He  writes  to  my  darter  all  his 
sayin's  and  doin's,  and  I  am  proud  to  see  you  and  he  are  so  thick, 
you  will  find  him  a  very  cute  man,  and  if  you  want  a  boss,  Sam  is 
your  man.  You've  heern  tell  of  Doctor  Ivory  Hovey,  Gineral, 
hante  you,  the  tooth-doctor  of  Slickville  ?'  '  No,'  sais  he, '  no !'  '  Not 
Jiear  of  Doctor  Ivory  Hovey,  of  Slickville  P  sais  I.  *  No ;  I  never 
heern  of  him,'  he  sais.  *  Well,  that's  strange  too,'  sais  I, '  I  thought 
everybody  had  heerd  tell  of  him.  Well,  you've  sartainly  heern  of 
Deacon  Westfall,  him  that  made  that  grand  spec  at  Alligator's  Lick?' 
'  I  might,'  sais  he, '  but  I  do  not  recollect.'  '  Well,  that's  'cussed 
odd,'  sais  I,  '  for  both  on  'em  have  heern  of  you  and  Waterloo  toO) 
but  then  we  are  an  enlightened  people.  Well,  they  are  counted  the 
best  judges  of  hoss-fiesh  in  our  country,  but  they  both  knock  under 
to  Sam.  Yes !  if  you  want  a  boss,  ax  Sam,  and  he'll  pick  you  out 
one  for  my  sake,  that  won't  stumble,  as  your'n  did  t'other  day,  and 
nearly  broke  your  neck.  Washington  was  fond  of  a  boss  ;  I  sup- 
pose you  never  seed  him  ?  you  mought,  for  you  are  no  chicken  now 
in  age — ^but  I  guess  not.  '  I  never  had  that  honor,'  he  said.  He 
said  '  honor,'  h«>  did  upon  my  soul.  Heroes  are  never  jealous ;  it's 
only  mean,  low-spirited  scoundrels  that  are  jealous.  '  I  never  had 
that  honor,'  he  said. 

**  Now  I  must  say  I  feel  kinder  proud  to  hear  the  fust  man  in  the 
age  call  it  an  '  honor'  jist  to  have  seed  him — ^for  it's  an  honor,  and  no 
mistake :  but  it  ain't  every  one,  especially  a  Britisher,  that  is  high- 
minded  enough  to  say  so.  But  Wellington  is  a  military  man,  and 
that  makes  the  hero,  the  statesman,  and  the  gentleman — ^it  does,  uyum 
my  soul. X Yes,  I  feel  kinder  proud,  I  tell  you.    'Well,'  sais  I, 


240 


THB  ATTACH^;   OB, 


*  Washington  was  fond  of  a  boss,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  Gineral  Lin. 
coin  told  me  that  he  heard  Washington  say  himself  with  his  own 
lips, — Shpw  me  a  man  that  is  fond  of  a  boss,  and  I'll  show  you  the 
makins  of  a  good  dragoon. 

" '  Now,  Sam  always  was  fond  of  one  from  a  boy.  Ke  u  a  judge, 
and  no  mistake,  he  caps  all,  that's  a  fact.  Have  you  ever  slept  with 
him  Gineral  ?'  sais  I.  *  What,  Sir  ?'  said  he.  '  Have  you  ever  slept 
with  liim  ?*  says  I.    *  I  have  nev — ^  " 

*'  Oh,  heuvens  and  airth !"  said  his  son ;  "  surely,  father,  you  didn't 
«ay  that  to  him,  did  you  ?"  And  then  turning  to  me  he  said  in  a 
most  melancholy  tone,  "  Oh,  Squire,  Squire,  ain't  this  too  bad  ?  I'm 
a  ruined  man,  I'm  a  gone  sucker,  I  am  up  a  tree,  you  may  depend. 
Creation !  only  think  of  his  saying  that,  I  shall  never  hear  the  last 
of  it.  Dickens  will  hear  of  it;  H.  B.  will  hear  of  it,  and  there  will 
be  a  caricature,  *  Have  you  slept  with  him,  Gineral  ?"  **  Speak  a 
little  louder,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  don't  hear  you."  "  I  was  a  sayin'^ 
Sir,"  said  the  Attach^,  raising  his  voice ;  ''  I  hoped  to  heavens  you 
hadn't  said  that" 

"  Said  it !  to  be  sure  I  did,  and  what  do  you  think  he  answered  ? 

*  I  never  had  that  honor,  Sir,'  he  said,  a-drawin'  himself  up,  and 
lookin'  proud-like,  as  if  he  felt  hurt  you  hadn't  axed  him — he  did, 
upon  my  soul !  '  I  never  had  that  honor,'  he  said.  So  you  see 
where  you  stand,  Sam,  letter  A,  No.  1,  you  do,  indeed.  '  I  never 
had  the  hrnor,  Sir,  to  see  Washington.  I  never  had  the  honor  to 
sleep  with  Sam.'  Don't  be  skeered,  boy,  your  fortin  is  made.  I 
thought  you  might  have  bragged  and  a-boasted  a  leetle  in  your  let- 
ters, but  I  now  ee  I  was  mistakened.  I  had  no  notion  you  stood 
so  high,  I  feel  quite  proud  of  your  /position  in  society. 

" '  As  for  the  honor,'  sais  I, '  Gineral,  it  will  be  all  the  other  way, 
though  the  advantage  will  be  mutual,  for  he  can  explain  Oregon  ter- 
ritory, right  of  sarch,  free  trade,  and  them  things,  better  nor  you'd 
s'pose ;  and  now,'  sais  I, '  I  must  be  a-movin',  Duke,  for  I  guess  din- 
ner is  waitin',  but  I  am  happy  to  see  you.  If  ever  you  come  to 
Slickville,  I  will  receive  you  with  all  due  military  honors,  at  the 
head  of  our  Volunteer  Corps,  and  show  you  the  boys  the  Bunker 
Hill  heroes  have  left  behind  'em,  to  defend  the  glorious  country  they 
won  for  'em  with  the  sword.  Good-bye,  good-bye.  I  count  it  a 
great  privilege  to  have  seed  you,'  and  I  bowed  myself  out.  He  is  a 
great  man,  Sam,  a  very  great  man.  He  has  the  same  composed, 
quiet  look,  Washington  had,  and  all  real  heroes  have.  I  guess  he 
is  a  great  man  fdl  through  the  piece,  but  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear 
you  hadn't  slept  with  him — very  sorry  indeed.  You  might  sarve 
our  great  nation,  and  raise  yourself  by  it  too.  Daniel  Webster  slept 
with  the  President  all  the  time  he  was  to  Slickville,  and  he  made 
him  Secretary  of  State ;  and  Deacon  Westfall  slept  with  Van  Buren 
at  Alligator's  Lick,  and  talked  him  over  to  make  him  Postmaster 


SAM 


SMCK 


IN    KNQLAND. 


241 


Grenei-al.    Ohl  the  next  time  you  go  to  Duke's  party,  saia  you, 
*  Gineral,'  sais  you,  *as  there  is  no  Miss  Wellington,  your  wife,  now 
livin',  I'll  jist  turn  in  with  you  to-night,  and  discuss  national  matters, 
ou  ain't  sleepy.' " 

''  Airth  and  seas  1"  said  the  Attach6  to  me,  "  did  ever  any  one  hear 
the  beat  of  that  ?  Oh  dear,  dear !  what  will  folks  say  to  this  poor 
dear  old  man  ?  I  feel  very  ugly,  I  do  indeed."  "  I  don't  hear  you," 
said  the  Colonel.  "Nothin',  Sir,"  said  the  Attach^,  "go  on." 
*^  Sleep  with  him,  Sam,  and  if  he  is  too  cautious  on  politics,  why  ax 
him  to  tell  you  of  Waterhoy  and  do  you  tell  him  all  about  Bunker 

mar 


CHAPTER   XLI. 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  — PART    I. 

After  our  return  from  dinner  to-day,  Mr.  Slick  said,  "  Squire, 
what  do  you  think  of  our  host  ?"  I  said,  "  I  thought  he  was  a  re- 
markably well  informed  man,  and  a  good  talker,  although  he  talked 
rather  louder  than  was  agreeable." 

"  That  feller,"  said  he,  "  is  nothin*  but  a  cussed  Hook,  and  they 
■are  critturs  that  it  ought  to  be  lawful  to  kick  to  the  north-eend  of 
creation,  wherever  you  meet  *em  as  it  is  to  kick  a  dog,  an  ingian  or 
a  nigger."  "  A  Hook,"  I  said,  "  pray  what  is  that  ?"  "  Did  you 
never  hear  of  a  Hook,"  he  replied ;  and,  upon  ray  answering  in  the 
negative,  he  said,  "  Well,  p'raps  you  hante,  for  I  believe  *  hooks  and 
eyes'  is  a  tarm  of  my  own ;  they  are  to  be  found  all  over  the  world ; 
but  there  are  more  on  *em  to  England,  p'raps,  than  any  other  part 
of  the  globe  a'most.  I  got  that  wrinkle,  about  hooks  and  eyes,  when 
I  was  just  one  and  twenty,  from  a  gall,  and  since  then  I  find  it  goes 
thro'  all  natur'.  There  are  Tory  hooks,  and  Whig  hooks,  and  Rad- 
ical hooks,  and  rebel  hooks,  and  so  on,  and  they  are  all  so  mean  it 
tante  easy  to  tell  which  is  the  dirtiest  or  meanest  of  *em.  But  I'll 
tell  you  the  fust  thing  sot  me  to  considerin'  about  hooks  and  eyes, 
and  then  you  will  see  what  a  grand  lesson  it  is. 

"  I  was  always  shockin'  fond  of  gunnin',  and  p'raps  to  this  day 
there  ain't  no  one  in  all  Slickville  as  good  at  shot,  or  bullet  as  I  be. 
Any  created  thing  my  gun  got  a  sight  of  was  struck  dead  afore  it 
knew  what  was  the  matter  of  it.  Well,  about  five  miles  or  so  from 
our  house,  there  was  two  most  grand  duck-ponds,  where  the  blue- 
winged  duck  and  the  teal  used  to  come,  and  these  ponds  was  on  the 
farm  of  Squire  Foley.    Sometimes,  in  the  wild-fowl  season,  I  used 

11 


242 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


1 

i 

! 

1 

i 

to  go  over  there,  and  stay  at  the  Squire's  three  or  four  days  at  a 
time,  and  grand  sport  I  had  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Well,  the  Squire 
had  but  one  child,  and  she  was  a  darter,  and  the  most  beautiful  crit- 
tur  that  ever  trod  in  shoe-leather.  Onion  county  couldn't  ditto  her 
nowhere,  nor  Connecticut  nother.  It  would  take  away  your  breath 
a'niost  to  look  at  her,  she  was  so  handsum.  Well,  in  course,  I  was 
away  all  day  and  didn't  see  much  of  Lucy,  except  at  feedin'  times, 
and  at  night,  round  the  fire.  Well,  what  does  Lucy  do,  but  say  she 
should  like  to  see  how  ducks  was  shot,  and  that  she  would  go  with 
me  some  day  and  look  on.  Well,  we  went  the  matter  of  three  dif- 
ferent mornin's,  tho'  not  hand  runnin',  and  sot  down  in  the  spruce 
thickets,  that  run  out  in  little  points  into  the  ponds,  which  made 
grand  screens  for  shootin'  from,  at  the  birds.  But  old  Marm  Foley 
— Oh !  nothin*  never  escapes  a  wommi ; — old  Marm  obsarved  when- 
ever Lucy  was  with  me,  I  never  shot  no  birds,  for  we  did  nothin' 
but  talk,  and  that  frightened  'em  away ;  and  she  didn't  half  like  this 
watchin'  for  wild  ducks  so  far  away  from  home.  *  So,'  sais  she  (and 
women  know  how  to  find  excuses  beautiful,  it  comes  nateral  to  'em), 
'  so,'  sais  she,  '  Lucy  dear,  you  mustn't  go  a-gunnin'  no  more.  The 
dew  is  on  the  grass  so  airly  in  the  mornin',  and  the  bushes  is  wet, 
and  you  are  delicate  yourself;  your  great  grandmother,  on  your  fa- 
ther's side,  died  of  consumption,  and  you'll  catch  your  death  a-cold, 
and  besides,'  sais  she, '  if  you  must  go,  go  with  some  one  that  knows 
how  to  shoot,  for  yoa  have  never  brought  home  no  birds  yet.'  Lucy, 
who  w{is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  understood  the  hint  at  oncet,  and  was 
shockin'  vext,  but  she  wouldn't  let  on  she  cared  to  go  with  me,  and 
that  it  was  young  Squii'e  Slick  she  wanted  to  see,  and  not  the  ducks. 
'  So,'  she  sais,  '  1  was  a  thinkin'  so  too,  Ma,  for  my  part,  I  can't  see 
what  pleasure  there  can  be  settin*  for  hours  shiverin'  under  a  wet 
bush  jist  to  shoot  a  duck.  I  shan't  go  no  more.'  Well,  next  mornin' 
arter  this  talk,  jist  as  I  was  ready  to  start  away,  down  comes  Lucy 
to  the  keepin'-room,  with  both  arms  behind  her  head  a-fixin'  of  the 
hooks  and  eyes.  '  Man  alive,'  sais  she, '  are  you  here  j'Ct,  I  thought 
you  was  olf  guunin'  an  hour  ago;  who'd  a  thought  you  was  here?* 
'  Gunnin  ?'  says  I, '  Lucy,  my  gunnin'  is  over,  I  shan't  go  no  more 
now,  I  shall  go  honie  ;  1  agree  with  you ;  shiverin'  alone  under  a 

wet  bush  for  ho  jrs  is  no  fun ;  but  if  Lucy  was  there' ^  Get  out,* 

sais  she,  'don't  talk  nonsense,  Sam,  and  just  tasten  the  upper  hook 
and  eye  of  my  frock,  will  you  ?'  She  turned  round  her  back  to  me. 
Well,  I  took  the  hook  in  one  hand  and  the  eye  in  the  other ;  but 
aiiih  and  seas !  my  eyes  fairly  snapped  agin ;  I  never  see  such  a 
neck  since  1  was  raised.  It  sprung  right  out  o'  the  breast  and 
shoulder,  full  and  round,  and  then  tapered  up  to  the  head  like  a 
swan's,  and  the  complexion  would  beat  the  most  delicate  white  and 
red  rose  that  ever  was  seen.  Lick,  it  made  me  all  eyes !  I  jist  stood 
stock  still,  I  couldn't  move  a  finger  if  I  was  to  die  for  it.    '  What 


^L_ 


■n 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


243 


ails  you,  Sam,'  sais  she,  '  that  you  don't  hook  it  ?'    *  Why,'  says  I, 

*  Lucy  dear,  my  fingers  is  all  thumbs,  that's  a  fact,  I  can't  handle 
such  little  things  as  last  as  you  can.'  •  Well,  come,'  sais  she, '  make 
haste,  that's  a  dear,  mother  will  be  a-comin'  directly ;'  and  at  last  I 
shot  too  both  my  eyes,  and  fastened  it,  and  when  I  had  done,  sais  I, 

*  there  is  one  thing  I  must  say,  Lucy.'     '  What's  that  ?*  sais  she. 

*  That  you  may  stump  all  Connecticut  to  show  such  an  angeliferous 
neck  as  you  have — 1  never  saw  the  beat  of  it  in  all  my  born  days — 

it's  the  most' *  And  you  may  stump  the  State,  too,'  sais  she, '  to 

produce  such  another  bold,  forward,  'mpedent,  onmannerly,  tongue 
as  you  have, — so  there  now — so  get  along  with  you.' — '  Well,  sais 
I,  «if ' 

"'Hold  your  tongue,'  sals  she,  'this  moment,  or  I'll  go  right  out 
of  the  room  now.'  '  Well,'  sais  I, '  now  I  am  mad,  for  I  didn't  mean 
no  harm,  and  I'll  jist  go  and  kill  ducks  out  of  spite.'     '  Do,'  sais  she, 

*  and  p'raps  you'll  be  in  good  humor  at  breakfast.'  Well,  that  night 
I  bid  'em  all  good  bye,  and  said  I  should  be  off  airly  and  return  to 
my  own  home  to  breakfast,  as  there  was  some  considerable  little 
chores  to  attend  to  there ;  and  in  the  mornin'  as  I  was  rakin'  out 
the  coals  to  light  a  cigar,  in  comes  Lucy  agin,  and  sais  she, '  good 
bye,  Sam,  take  this  parcel  to  Sally ;  I  had  to  git  up  a-purpose  to 
give  it  10  you,  for  I  forgot  it  last  night.  I  hope  you  will  bring  Sally 
over  soon,  I  am  very  lonesome  here.'  Then  she  went  to  the  glass 
and  stood  with  her  back  to  it,  and  turned  her  head  over  her  shoulders 
and  put  both  hands  behind  her,  a-tryin'  to  fix  the  hooks  and  eyes 
agin,  and  artei  fussin'  and  fumblin'  for  awhile,  sais  she, '  I  believe  I 
must  trouble  you  agin,  Sam,  for  little  Byney  is  asleep  and  mother 
won't  be  down  this  half  hour,  and  there  is  no  one  to  do  it ;  but  don't 
talk  nonsense  now  as  you  did  yesterday.'  '  Sartinly,'  sais  I,  '  but  a 
cat  may  look  at  a  king,  I  hope,  as  grandfather  Slick  used  to  say, 
mayn't  he  ?'  '  Yes,  or  a  queen  either,'  sais  she,  '  if  he  only  keeps 
his  paws  off.'  'Oh,  oh!'  sais  I  to  myself,  sais  I,  'mother  won't  be 
down  for  half  an  hour,  little  Byney  is  asleep,  and  it's  paws  off,  is  it  ?' 
Well,  I  fastened  the  hooks  and  eyes,  though  I  was  none  of  the 
quickest  about  it  nother,  I  tell  you,  for  it  warn't  easy  to  shut  out  a 
view  of  such  a  neck  as  that,  and  when  I  was  jist  finishin',  '  Lucy,' 
sais  I, '  don't  ask  me  to  fasten  that  are  agin.*     '  Why  not  ?'  sais  she. 

*  Why,  because  if  you  do,  I'll,  I'll,  I'll — '  What  will  you  do?'  sais 
she — '  1 11,  I'll,  I'll  do  that,'  sais  I,  puttin*  my  arms  round  her  neck, 
turnin'  up  her  face,  and  givin'  her  a  smack  that  went  off  like  a  pistol. 

*  Well,  I  never !'  sais  she,  '  mother  heard  that  as  sure  as  you  are 
born !  you  impudent  wretch  you !     I'll  never  speak  to  you  agin  the 

•  longest  day  I  ever  live.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to 
act  that  way,  so  you  ought.  So  there  now.  Oh,  I  never  in  all  my 
life !  Get  out  of  my  sight,  you  horrid  iinpedent  crittur,  go  out  this 
minute,  or  I'll  call  mother.'     Well,  taith,  I  began  to  think  I  had  car- 


244 


THE    ATTACHE  1   OR, 


i 


ried  it  too  far,  so  sais  I,  *  I  beg  pardon,  Lucy,  I  do  indeed ;  if  you 
only  knew  all,  you  wouldn't  keep  angry,  I  do  assure  you.'  *  Hold 
your  tongue,*  sais  she,  *  this  very  minit ;  don't  you  ever  dare  to 
speak  to  nie  agin.*  '  Well,'  sais  I, '  Lucy,  I  don't  return  no  more — I 
shall  go  home — we  never  meet  again,  an  in  course  if  we  don't  meet, 
we  can't  speak.'  I  saw  her  color  up  at  that  like  anything,  so,  sais  I 
to  myself,  it's  all  right,  try  a  leetle  longer,  and  she'll  make  it  up. 
'  I  had  something,'  sais  I, '  to  say,  but  it's  no  use  now.  My  heart* 
— '  Well  I  don't  wan't  to  hear  it,'  sais  she,  faintly.  '  Well,  then,  I'll 
lock  it  up  in  my  own  breast  for  ever,'  sais  I, '  since  you  are  so  cruel 
— it's  hard  to  part  that  way.  My  heart,  Lucy,' — '  Well,  don't  tell 
me  now,  Sam,'  sais  she,  *  you  frightened  me  most  to  death.'  *  Oh,  I 
shall  never  tell  you,  you  are  so  cruel,'  says  L  *  I  have  a  proposal 
to  make.  But  my  heart — ^but  never  mind,  good  bye ;'  and  I  put 
my  hat  on,  and  moved  to  the  door.  *  Had  you  heerd  my  proposal, 
I  might  have  been  happy ;  but  :.s  past  now.  I  shall  sail  for  Nova 
Scotia  to-morrow;  good  bye.*     'Well,  what  is  it  then?*  sais  she, 

*  I'm  in  a  tittervation  all  over.*  *  Why,  Lucy,  dear,*  sais  I,  *  I  con- 
fess I  was  very  very  wrong,  indeed,  I  humbly  axe  your  pardon,  and 
I  have  a  proposal  to  make,  as  the   only  way  to  make   amends.* 

*  Well,*  sais  she,  a-lookin'  down  and  colorin'  all  over,  and  a  twistin* 
o'  the  corner  of  her  apron-frill,  '  well,'  sais  she, '  what  is  it,  what  i-* 
it,  for  mother  will  be  here  directly  ?'  '  No,'  sais  I, '  my  lips  is  sealed 
for  ever ;  I  know  you  will  refuse  me,  and  that  will  kill  me  quite.* 

*  Refuse  you,  dear  Sam,*  sais  she,  how  can  you  talk  so  unkind  ? 
Speak,  dear,  what  is  it  ?'  '  Why,'  sais  I  my  proposal  is  to  beg 
pardon  and  restore  what  I  have  stolen.  S'posin'  I  give  you  that 
kiss  back  again ;  will  you  make  up  and  be  friends  ?'  Oh,  Lord,  I 
never  saw  anyihin'  like  her  face  in  all  my  life ;  there  was  no  pre- 
tence there;  she  raelly  was  all  taken  a-back,  for  she  thought  I  was 
a-goin'  to  offer  to  her  in  airnest,  and  it  was  nothin'  but  to  kiss  her 
agin.  She  was  actually  bung  fungered.  *  Well,  I  never !'  sais  she : 
and  she  seemed  in  doubt  for  a  space,  whether  to  be  angry  or  good- 
natured,  or  how  to  take  it ;  at  last  she  sais, '  Well,  I  must  say  you 
desarve  it,  for  your  almighty  everlastin'  imperence,  will  you  pro- 
mise never  to  tell  if  I  let  you  ?'  *  Tell !'  sais  I, '  I  scorn  it  as  I  do 
a  nigger.'  '  Well,  there  then,'  said  she,  standin',  with  her  face 
lookin'  down,  and  I  jist  put  my  arm  round  her,  and  if  I  didn't 
return  that  kiss  with  every  farthin'  of  interest  that  was  due,  and  ten 
per  cent,  of  premium  too,  it's  a  pity,  I  tell  you,  that's  all !  It  was 
like  a  seal  on  wax ;  it  left  the  impression  on  her  lips  all  day.  '  Ah  I 
sais  she, '  Sam,  it's  time  we  did  part,  for  you  are  actin*  foolish  now ; 
come,  here's  your  powder-horn  and  shot-bug,  take  your  gun  and  be 
off.  I  hear  mother.  But.  Sam,  I  rely  on  your  honor;  be  off.* 
And  she  pushed  me  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  *  what  a  sarcy 
dear  you  be,'  and  shot  to  the  door  arter  me,  and  then  opened  it  agin 


SAM   SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


245 


and  called  arter  me,  and  said, '  Mind  you  bring  Sally  over  to  see 
me  soon,  I'm  very  lonely  here.  Bring  her  soon,  Sam.'  As  I  went 
home,  I  began  to  talk  to  myself. — Sam,  sais  T, '  hooks  and  eyes'  is 
dangerous  things,  do  you  jist  mind  what  you  are  about,  or  a  sartin 
young  lady  with  a  handsome  neck  will  clap  a  hook  on  you,  as  sure 
as  you're  born.  So  mind  your  eye. — This  was  a  grand  lesson ;  it 
has  taught  me  to  watch  hooks  and  eyes  of  all  kinds,  I  tell  ^ou." 

"  Sam,"  said  Colonel  Slick,  rising  from  his  chair  with  some  dif!i« 
culty,  by  supporting  himself  with  both  hands  on  its  arms ;  "  Sam 
you  are  a  d— d  rascal." 

"  Thank  you.  Sir,"  said  his  son,  with  a  quick  and  inquisitive 
glance  at  me,  expressive  of  his  impatience  and  mortiJScation. 
"  Thank  you,  Sir,  I  am  obleeged  to  you  for  your  good  opinion." 

"  You  are  welcome.  Sir,"  said  his  father,  raising  himself  to  his 
full  height.  "■  To  take  advantage  of  that  young  lady  and  kiss  her, 
Sir,  as  you  did,  was  a  breach  of  good  manners,  and  to  kiss  her 
under  her  father  s  roof  was  a  breach  of  hospitality  ;  but  to  talk  of 
your  havin'  a  proposal  to  make,  and  so  on,  to  induce  her  to  let  you 
repeat  it,  was  a  breach  of  honor.  You  must  either  marry  that  girl 
or  fight  her  father.  Sir." ' 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  considerin*  I  am  the  son  of  a 
Bunker  Hill  hero  and  one,  too,  that  fought  at  Mud  Creek  and 
Peach  Orchard,  for  the  honor  of  the  name,  I  will  fight  her 
father." 

"  Right,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  Seein'  she  despises  you,  as  I'm  sure 
she  must,  p'raps  fightin'  is  the  best  course." 

''  Oh,  I'll  fight  him,"  said  his  son,  "  as  soon  as  we  return.  He's  a 
gone  'coon,  is  the  old  Squire,  you  may  depend." 

"■  Give  me  your  hand,  Sam,"  said  his  father,  "  a  man  desarves  to 
kiss  a  gall  that  will  fight  for  her,  that's  a  fact.  That's  a  military 
rule,  lovin'  and  fightin',  Sir,  is  the  life  of  a  soldier.  When  I  was 
a-goin'  to  Bunker  Hill  there  was  a  gall — '* 

"  Hem !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  turning  restlessly  in  his  chair. 
"  Sam,  give  me  a  pipe,  I  hardly  know  which  to  disapprove  of  most, 
your  story  or  your  father's  comments.  Bring  me  a  pipe,  and  let  us 
change  the  subject  of  conversation.  I  think  we  have  had  enough 
to-day  of  *  hooks  and  eyes' " 


'•T'^'^l^W^ 


{ 


I 


246 


THE  attach:^;  ob, 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

HOOKS  AND  EYES. -PART  II. 

"  lF«you  recollect,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  was  a-tellin'  of  you  yester- 
day about  hooks  and  eyes,  and  how  I  larnt  the  fust  lesson  in  that 
worldly  wisdom  from  Lucy  Foley.  Now,  our  friend  that  entertained 
us  yestei*day,  is  a  hook,  a  Tory  hook,  and  nothin'  else,  and  I  must 
say  if  there  is  a  thing  I  despise  and  hate  in  this  world,  it  is  one  of 
them  critturs.  The  Tory  party  here,  you  know,  includes  all  the 
best  part  of  the  upper  crust  folks  in  the  kingdom — most  o'  the 
prime  o'  the  nobility,  clargy,  gentry,  army,  navy,  professions  and 
real  marchants.  It  has,  in  course,  a  vast  majority  of  all  the  power, 
talent,  virtue,  and  wealth  of  the  kingdom  a'most.  In  the  natur'  of 
things,  therefore,  it  has  been  in  power  most  o'  the  time,  and  always 
will  be  in  longer  than  the  Whigs,  who  are,  in  fact,  in  a  gineral  way 
not  Liberals  on  principle,  but  on  interest — not  in  heart,  but  in  pro- 
fession. 

"  Well,  such  a  party  is  '  the  eye,*  or  the  power,  and  the  '  hook* 
is  a  crooked  thing  made  to  hitch  on  to  it.  Every  Tory  jungle 
has  one  or  more  of  these  beasts  of  prey  in  it.  Talk  of  a  tiger 
hunt,  heavens  and  airth !  it  would  be  nothin'  to  the  fun  of  huntin* 
one  of  these  devils.  Our  friend  is  one ;  he  is  an  adventurer  in 
politics  and  nothin'  else — he  talks  high  Tory,  and  writes  high  Tory, 
and  acts  high  Tory,  about  the  toploftiest ;  not  because  he  is  one,  for 
he  is  nothin',  but  because  it  curries  favor,  because  it  enables  him  to 
stand  where  he  can  put  his  hook  in  when  a  chance  offers.  He'll 
stoop  to  anythin*,  will  this  wretch.  If  one  of  his  tory  patrons  writes 
a  book,  he  writes  a  review  of  it,  and  praises  it  up  to  the  skies.  If 
he  makes  a  speech,  he  gets  a  leadin'  article  in  its  favor  inserted  in  a 
paper.  If  his  lady  has  a  lap-dog,  he  takes  it  up  and  fondles  it,  and 
swears  it  is  the  sweetest  one  he  ever  seed  in  his  life;  and  when 
the  cute  leetle  divil,  smellin'  deceit  on  his  fingers,  snaps  at  'em  and 
half  bites  *em  off,  he  gulps  down  the  pain  without  winkin',  and  says, 
oh !  you  are  jealous,  you  little  rogue,  you  know'd  I  was  a  goin  to 
import  a  beautiful  one  from  Cuba  for  your  mistress.  He  is  one  o' 
them  rascals  that  will  crouch  but  not  yelp  when  he  is  kicked — he 
knows  the  old  proverb,  that  if  a  feller  gets  a  rap  from  a  jackass, 
he  hadn't  ought  to  tell  of  it.    If  '  the  eye'  has  an  old  ugly  darter, 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


247 


he  dances  with  her,  and  takes  her  in  to  dinner ;  whatever  tastes 
hei**n  is,  his'n  is  the  same.  If  she  plays  he  goes  into  fits,  turns  up 
the  whites  of  his  eyes,  twirls  his  thumbs,  and  makes  his  foot  move 
in  time.  If  she  sings,  then  it's  a  beautiful  sono;,  but  made  twice  as 
sweet  by  the  great  effect  she  gives  to  it.  After  dinner  he  turns  up 
his  nose  at  cotton  lords,  and  has  some  capital  stories  to  tell  of  their 
vulgarity ;  talks  of  the  Corn-law  League  people  havin'  leave  to  hold 
their  meetings  in  Newgate ;  speaks  of  the  days  of  Eldon  and 
Wetherall  as  the  glorious  days  of  old  England,  and  the  Reform 
Bill  as  its  sunset.  Peel  wants  firmness,  Stanley  wants  temper, 
Graham  consistency,  and  all  want  somethin*  or  another,  if  *  the  eye' 
only  thinks  so.  If  there  is  anythin'  to  be  done,  but  not  talked  of,  or 
that  can  be  neither  done  nor  talked  of,  he  is  jist  the  boy  for  the  dirty 
job,  and  will  do  it  right  ofl'.  That's  the  way  you  know  the  hook 
when  the  eye  is  present.  When  the  eye  ain't,  there  you  will  know 
him  by  his  arrogance  and  impedence,  by  his  talkin*  folks  down,  by 
his  overbearin'  way,  by  his  layin'  down  the  law,  by  his  pretendin' 
to  know  all  state  secrets,  and  to  be  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  'em ; 
and  by  his  pretendin'  things  ain't  good  enough  for  him  by  a  long 
chalk.  He  talks  big,  walks  big,  and  acts  big.  He  never  can  go 
anywhere  with  you,  for  he  is  engaged  to  the  Duke  of  this,  and  the 
Marquis  of  that,  and  the  Airl  of  t'other.  He  is  jist  a  nuisanto,  that's 
a  fact,  and  ought  to  be  indited.  Confound  him,  to-day  he  eyed  me 
ail  over,  from  head  to  foot,  and  surveyed  me  like,  as  much  as  to  say, 
what  a  Yankee  scarecrow  you  b^,  what  standin'  com,  I  wonder,  was 
you  taken  out  of?  When  I  seed  him  do  that  I  jist  eyed  him  the  same 
way,  only  I  turned  up  my  nose  and  the  corner  of  my  mouth  a  few, 
as  much  as  to  say,  I'me  a  sneeser,  a  reg'lar  ring-tailed  roarer,  and 
can  whip  my  weight  in  wild  cats,  so  look  out  for  sea' din's,  will  you. 
When  he  seed  that,  he  was  as  civil  as  you  please.  Cuss  him,  how 
I  longed  to  feel  his  short  ribs,  and  tickle  his  long  ones  for  him.  If 
folks  could  only  read  men  as  I  can,  there  wouldn't  be  many  such 
cattle  a  bi'owsin'  about  in  other  men's  pastur's,  I  know.  But  then, 
as  Minister  says,  all  created  critturs  have  their  use,  and  must  live, 
I  do  suppose.  The  toad  eats  slugs,  the  swaller  eats  muskeeters,  and 
the  hog  eats  rattle-snakes ;  why  shouldn't  these  leeches  fasten  on  to 
fat  old  fools,  and  bleed  them  when  their  habit  is  too  full. 

"  Well,  bad  as  this  crittur  is,  there  is  a  wus  one,  and  that  is  a 
Whig  hook.  The  Whigs  have  no  power  of  themselves,  they  get  it 
all  from  the  ^ladicals,  Romanists,  Republicans,  Dissenters,  and  lower 
orders,  and  so  on.  Their  hook,  therefore,  is  at  t'other  eend,  and 
hooks  up.  Instead  of  an  adventurer,  therefore,  or  spekelator  in  po- 
litics, a  Whig  hook  is  a  statesman,  and  fastens  on  to  the  leaders  of 
these  bodies,  so  as  to  get  their  support.  Oh,  dear !  it  would  make 
you  larf  ready  to  split  if  you  was  to  watch  the  menovres  of  these 
critturs  to  do  the  thing,  and  yet  not  jist  stoop  too  low  nother,  to  keep 


T 


■ — r~~ irTSTiiTilp —  i 


248 


THE  ATTACHE  ;   OR, 


their  own  position  as  bi^  bugs  and  gentlemen,  and  jet  flatter  the 
vanity  of  these  folks.  The  decentest  leaders  of  these  bodies  they 
now  and  then  axe  to  their  tables,  takin'  care  the  company  is  all  of 
their  own  party,  that  they  mayn't  be  larfed  at  for  their  popularity- 
huntin'.  If  they  ain't  quite  so  decent,  but  jist  as  powerful,  why  they 
take  two  or  three  on  'em  at  a  time,  bag  'em,  and  shake  'em  out  into 
a  room  chock  full  of  people,  where  they  rub  the  dust  oflf  their  clothes 
agin  other  folks  afore  long,  and  pop  in  the  crowd.  Some  on  'em  axe 
a  high  price.  Owen  and  his  Socialists  made  an  introduction  to  the 
Queen  as  their  condition.  They  say  Melbourne  made  awful  wry 
fa^ps  at  it,  like  a  child  takin'  physic ;  but  it  was  to  save  life,  so  he 
shot  to  his  eyes,  opened  his  mouth,  and  swallered  it.  Nothin'  never 
shocked  the  nation  like  that.  They  love  their  Queen,  do  the  En- 
glish, and  they  felt  this  insult  about  the  deepest.  It  was  one  o'  them 
things  that  fixed  the  flint  of  the  Whigs.  It  fairly  frighteri'd  folks, 
they  didn't  know  what  onder  the  sun  would  come  next.  But  the 
great  body  of  these  animals  ain't  fit  for  no  decent  company  whatsom- 
ever,  but  have  them  they  must,  cost  what  it  will ;  and  what  do  you 
think  they  do  now  to  countenance,  and  yet  not  to  associate, — to  pa- 
tronize and  not  come  too  familiar  ?  Why,  they  have  a  half-way 
house  that  sarves  the  family  the  vexation  and  degradation  of  havin' 
such  vulgar  fellers  near  'em,  and  answers  the  purpose  of  gratifyin* 
these  critturs'  pride.  Why,  they  go  to  the  Reform  Club  and  have 
a  house  dinner,  to  let  these  men  feast  their  eyes  on  a  lord,  and  do 
their  hearts  good  by  the  sight  of  a  star  or  a  ribbon.  Then,  they  do 
the  civil — onbend — take  wine  with  them — talk  about  enlightened 
views — removing  restrictions — ameliorating  the  condition  of  the 
people — building  an  altar  in  Ireland  and  sacrificing  seven  church 
bishops  c  .  it,  to  pacify  the  country — ^free  trade— cheap  bread,  and 
all  other  stuff  that's  cheap  talkin' — preach  up  unity — hint  to  each 
man  if  the  party  comes  in  he  must  have  ofiice — drink  success  to  re- 
form, shake  hands  and  part.  Follow  them  out  arter  dinner,  and 
hear  the  talk  of  both  '  hooks  and  eyes.'  Says  the  hook, '  What  a 
vulgar  wretch  that  was ;  how  he  smelt  of  tobacco  and  gin.  I'm  glad 
it's  over.  I  think  we  have  these  men  though,  eh  ?  Staunch  re- 
formers, those.  'Gad,  if  they  knew  what  a  sacrifice  it  was  to  dine 
with  such  brutes,  they'd  know  how  to  appreciate  their  good  luck.' 
This,  I  estimate,  is  about  the  wust  sight  London  has  to  show ;  rank, 
fortin,  and  station,  degradin'  itself  for  party  purposes.  Follow  out 
the  *  eyes,'  who,  in  their  turn,  become  '  hooks '  to  those  below  'em. 
*  Lucky  in  gainin'  these  lords,  they  say.  *  We  must  make  use  of 
them ;  we  must  get  them  to  help  us  to  pull  down  the  pillars  of  their 
own  house  that's  to  crush  them'.  They  are  as  blind  as  Sampson, 
it's  a  pity  they  ain't  quite  as  strong.  Go  to  public  meetin's  and  hear 
their  blackguard  speeches ;  hear  'em  abuse  Queen,  Albert,  nobles, 
clargy,  and  all  in  a  boby  for  it.    It  wont  do  for  them  to  except  their 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENOLAND. 


249 


friends  that  honored  'em  at  the  *  House  dinner/  They  are  throwed 
into  a  heap  together,  and  called  every  name  they  can  lay  their 
tongues  to.  Talk  of  our  stump  orators,  they  are  fools  to  these 
fellers,  they  arn't  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  'em.  We  have  nothin'  to 
pull  down,  nothin'  but  party  agin  party,  and  therefore  envy,  especial- 
ly envy  of  superiors,  which  is  an  awful  feelin',  don't  enter  into  their 
heads  and  pyson  their  hearts.  It's  *  great  cry  and  little  wool '  with 
us,  and  a  good  deal  of  fun,  too ;  many  of  these  leaders  here  are 
bloodhounds ;  they  snuff  gore,  and  are  on  the  trail ;  many  of  our'n 
snuff  whiskey  and  fun,  and  their  talk  is  Bunkum.  I  recollect  oncet 
heerin'  one  of  our  western  orators,  one  Colonel  Hanibel  Hombeak, 
of  Sea-conch,  argue  this  way : '  Whar  was  General  Jackson,  then  ? 
a  givin'  of  the  British  u'most  an  almighty  lickin'  at  New  Orleans, 
and  whar  was  Harrison  ?  a-fattin'  of  hogs,  makin'  bad  bacon,  and 
gettin'  more  credit  than  he  desarved  for  it ;  and  whar  was  our  friend 
here ;  a-drawin'  of  bills  on  Baltimore  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  a- 
gettin'  of  them  discounted ;  and  for  these  reasons  I  vote  for  nullifica- 
tion.' But  here  it  is  different  talk.  I  heerd  one  reformer  say, 
'  When  the  king  was  brought  to  the  block  the  work  was  well  begun, 
but  they  stopt  there ;  his  nobles  and  his  bishops  should  have  shared 
the  same  fate.  Then,  indeed,  should  we  have  been  free  at  this  day. 
Let  us  read  history,  learn  the  lesson  by  heart,  and  be  wise.'  Now, 
don't  let  these  folks  talk  to  us  of  Bowie  knives  and  Arkansaw  tooth- 
fficks.  In  our  country  they  are  used  in  drunken  private  quarrels ; 
here  they  are  ready  to  use  'em  in  public  ones.  '  Hooks  and  eyes ! !' 
I'll  count  the  chain  for  you.  Here  it  is  :  1st  link, — Masses;  2nd — 
Republicans ;  3rd — Agitators ;  4th — Repealers ;  5th — Liberals ;  6th 
— Whigs.  This  is  the  great  reform  chain,  and  a  pretty  considerable 
tarnation  precious  chain  it  is,  too,  of '  hooks  and  eyes.' " 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


RESPONSIBLE    GO VERNMENT.— PART    I, 


em. 
le  of 
their 


Despatches  having  been  received  from  Canada,  announcing  the 
resignation  of  the  Local  Cabinet,  responsible  government  became,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  a  general  topic  of  conversation.  I  had  never 
heard  Mr.  Hopewell's  opinion  on  th  i  subject,  and  as  I  knew  no  man 
was  able  to  form  so  correct  a  one  as  himself,  I  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  it. 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  responsible  government  is,"  he  said, 
"  then  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it.     As  it  is  understood  by  the 

11* 


-  -^r-r-r^TT.^^  f™ 


•'r^^SJi^ 


250 


THB  ATTACH^:;  OB, 


leaders  of  the  Liberal  party  in  Canada,  it  is  independence  and  repub- 
licanism ;  as  it  is  understood  here,  it  is  a  cant  term  of  Whig  inven- 
tion, susceptible  of  several  interpretations,  either  of  which  can  be 
put  upon  it  to  suit  a  particular  purpose.  '  It  is  a  Greek  incantation 
to  call  fools  into  a  circle.'  It  is  said  to  have  originated  from  Lord 
Durham ;  that  alone  is  sufficient  to  stamp  its  character.  Haughty, 
vain,  impetuous,  credulous,  prejudiced,  and  weak,  he  imagined  that 
theories  of  government  could  be  put  into  practice  with  as  much  ease 
as  they  could  be  put  upon  paper.  I  do  not  think  myself  he  attached 
any  definite  meaning  to  the  term,  but  used  it  as  a  grandiloquent 
phrase,  which,  from  its  size,  m:st  be  supposed  to  contain  sometliing 
within  it ;  and  from  its  popular  compound,  could  not  fail  to  be  ac- 
ceptable to  the  party  he  acted  with.  It  appears  to  have  been  left  to 
common  parlance  to  settle  its  meaning,  but  it  is  not  the  only  word 
used  in  a  different  and  sometimes  opposite  sense,  on  the  two  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  All  the  evil  that  has  occurred  in  Canada  since  the 
introduction  of  this  ambiguous  phrase,  is  attributed  to  his  lordship. 
But  in  this  respect  the  public  has  not  done  him  justice ;  much  good 
was  done  during  his  dictatorship  in  Canada,  which,  though  not 
emanating  directly  from  him,  had  the  sanction  of  his  name.  He 
found  on  his  arrival  there  a  very  excellent  council  collected  together 
by  Sir  John  Colborne,  and  they  enabled  him  to  paas  many  valuable 
ordinances,  which  it  has  been  the  object  of  the  responsibles  ever 
since  to  repeal.  The  greatest  mischief  was  done  by  Poulett  Thomp» 
son ;  shrewd,  sensible,  laborious,  and  practical,  he  had  great  personal 
weight,  and  as  he  was  known  to  have  unlimited  power  delegated  to 
him,  and  took  the  liberty  of  altering  the  tenure  of  every  office  of 
emolument  in  the  country,  he  had  the  greatest  patronage  ever  known 
in  a  British  province,  at  his  command,  and,  of  course,  extraordinary 
official  influence. 

"  His  object  evidently  was  not  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  perma- 
nent system  of  government  there.  That  would  have  taken  a  longer 
period  of  time  than  he  intended  to  devote  to  it.  It  was  to  reorgan- 
ize the  legislative  body  under  the  imperial  act,  put  it  into  immediate 
operation,  carry  through  his  measures  at  any  cost  and  hy  any  means, 
produce  a  temporary  pacification,  make  a  dashing  and  striking 
effect,  and  return  triumphant  to  Parliament,  and  say, '  I  have  effaced 
all  the  evils  that  have  grown  out  of  years  of  Tory  misrule,  and 
given  to  the  Canadians  that  which  has  so  long  and  so  unjustly  been 
withheld  from  them  by  the  bigotry,  intolerance,  and  exclusiveness  of 
that  party,  '  Responsible  Government.*  That  short  and  disastrous 
Administration  has  been  productive  of  incalculable  mischief.  It  lias 
disheartened  and  weakened  the  loyal  British  party.  It  has  embold- 
ened and  strengthened  the  opposite  one,  and  from  the  extraordinary 
means  used  to  compel  acquiescence,  and  obtain  majorities,  lowered 
the  tone  of  moral  feeling  throughout  the  country. 


SAM  SUCK   IN   ENGLAND. 


251 


"  He  is  now  dead,  and  I  will  not  speak  of  him  in  the  terms  I 
should  have  used  had  he  been  living.  The  object  of  a  truly  good 
and  patriotic  man  should  have  been  not  to  create  a  triumphant  party 
to  carry  his  measures,  (because  he  must  have  known  that  to  pur- 
chase their  aid,  he  must  have  adopted  too  many  of  their  views,  or 
modified  or  relinquished  too  many  of  his  own,)  but  to  extinguish  all 
party,  to  summon  to  his  council  men  possessing  the  confidence  of 
every  large  interest  in  the  country,  and  by  their  assistance  to  admin- 
ister the  government  with  fairness,  firmness,  and  impartiality.  No 
government  based  upon  any  other  principle  will  ever  give  general 
satisfaction,  or  insure  tranquillity  in  the  Colonies,  for  in  politics  as 
in  other  things,  nothing  can  be  permanent  that  is  not  built  upon  the 
immutable  foundations  of  truth  and  justice.  The  fallacy  of  this 
*  Responsibility  System*  is,  that  it  consists,  as  the  liberals  interpret 
it,  of  two  antagonist  principles,  Republican  and  Monarchical,  the 
former  being  the  active,  and  the  latter  the  passive  principle.  When 
tliis  is  the  case,  and  there  is  no  third  or  aristocratic  body,  with  which 
both  can  unite,  or  which  can  prevent  their  mutual  contact,  it  is  evi- 
dent the  active  principle  will  be  the  ruling  one. 

"  This  is  not  a  remote  but  an  immediate  consequence,  and  as  soon 
as  this  event  occurs,  there  is  but  one  word  that  expresses  the  result 
— independence.  One  great  error  of  Poulett  Thompson  was,  in 
strengthening,  on  all  occasions,  the  democratic,  and  weakening  the 
aristocratic,  feeling  of  the  country,  than  which  nothing  could  be 
more  subversive  of  the  regal  authority  and  influence.  Pitt  wisely 
designed  to  have  created  an  order  in  Canada,  corresponding  as  far  as 
the  different  situations  of  the  two  countries  would  admit,  to  the  here- 
ditary order  in  England,  but  unfortunately  listened  to  Whig  reason- 
ing and  democratic  raillery,  and  relinquished  the  plan.  The  sound- 
ness of  his  views  is  now  apparent  in  the  great  want  that  is  felt  of 
such  a  counterpoise,  but  I  will  talk  to  you  of  this  subject  some  other 
time. 

"  I  know  of  no  colony  to  which  Responsible  Government,  as  now 
demanded,  is  applicable ;  but  I  know  of  few  to  which  it  is  so  wholly 
unsuitable  as  to  Canada.  If  it  means  anything,  it  means  a  govern- 
ment responsible  to  the  people  for  its  acts,  and  of  course  pre-suppo- 
ses  a  people  capable  of  judging. 

"  As  no  community  can  act  for  itself,  in  a  body,  individual  opinion 
must  be  severally  collected,  and  the  majority  of  votes  thus  taken 
must  be  accepted  as  the  voice  of  the  people.  How,  then,  can  this 
be  said  to  be  the  case  in  a  community  where  a  very  large  portion 
of  the  population  surrenders  the  right  of  private  judgment  to  its 
priests,  and  where  the  politics  of  the  priesthood  are  wholly  sub- 
servient to  the  advancement  of  their  church,  or  the  preservation  of 
their  nationality  ?  A  large  body  like  this  in  Canada  will  always  be 
made  larger  by  the  addition  of  ambitious  and  unscrupulous  men  of 


^'''^J,^  ' 


it 


1,1  ■ 


252 


THE   ATTACHE;   OR, 


Other  creeds,  who  are  ever  willing  to  give  their  talents  and  influence 
in  exchange  for  its  support,  and  to  adopt  its  views,  provided  the 
party  will  adopt  them.  To  make  the  Government  responsible  to  such 
a  party  as  this,  and  to  surrender  the  patronage  of  the  Crown  to  it,  is 
to  sacrifice  every  British  and  every  Protestant  interest  in  the  country, 

"  The  hope  and  the  belief,  and  indeed  the  entire  conviction  that 
such  would  be  the  result,  was  the  reason  why  the  French  leaders 
accepted  responsible  government  with  so  much  eagerness  and  joy, 
the  moment  it  was  proffered.  They  felt  that  they  had  again,  by  the 
folly  of  their  rulers,  become  sole  masters  of  a  country  they  were  un- 
able to  reconquer,  and  were  in  the  singular  and  anomalous  condition 
of  having  a  monopoly  of  all  the  power,  revenue,  authority,  and 
patronage  of  the  Government,  without  any  possibility  of  the  real 
owners  having  any  practical  participation  in  it.  The  French,  aided 
by  others  holding  the  same  religious  views,  and  a  few  Protestant  Radi- 
cals, easily  form  a  majority  ;  once  establish  the  doctrine  of  ruling  by 
a  majority,  and  then  they  are  hwfully  the  government,  and  the  exclu' 
aion  and  oppression  of  the  English,  in  their  own  colony,  is  sanctioned 
by  law,  and  that  law  imposed  by  England  on  itself.  What  a  mon- 
strous  piece  of  absurdth/,  cruelty,  and  injustice  !  In  making  such  a 
concession  as  this,  Poulett  Thompson  proved  himself  to  have  been 
cither  a  very  weak  or  a  very  unprincipled  man.  Let  us  strive  to 
be  charitable,  however  difficult  it  be  in  this  case,  and  endeavor  to 
hope  it  was  an  error  of  the  head  rather  than  the  heart. 

"  The  doctrine  maintained  here  is,  that  a  governor,  who  has  but  a 
delegated  authority,  must  be  responsible  to  the  power  that  delegates 
it,  namely,  the  Queen's  Government ;  and  this  is  undoubtedly  the 
true  doctrine,  and  the  only  one  that  is  compatible  with  colonial  de- 
pendence. The  Liberals  (as  the  movement  party  in  Canada  style 
themselves)  say  he  is  but  the  head  of  his  executive  council,  and  that 
that  council  must  be  responsible  to  the  people.  Where,  then,  is  the 
monarchical  principle  ?  or  where  is  the  line  of  demarcation  between 
such  a  state  and  independence  ?  The  language  of  these  troublesome 
and  factious  men  is,  '  Every  Government  ought  to  be  able  to  possess 
a  majority  in  the  legislature  powerful  enough  to  carry  its  measures ;' 
and  the  plausibility  of  this  dogmatical  assertion  deludes  many  per- 
sons who  are  unable  to  understand  the  question  properly.  A  ma- 
jority is  required,  not  to  carry  Government  measures,  but  to  carry  cer- 
tain persons  into  office  and  power.  A  colonial  administration  neither 
has,  nor  ought  to  have,  any  government  measures.  Its  foreign 
policy  and  internal  trade,  its  post  office  and  customs  department,  its 
army  and  navy,  its  commissariat  and  mint,  are  imperial  services  pro- 
vided for  here.  Its  civil  list  is,  in  most  cases,  established  by  a  per 
manent  law.  All  local  matters  should  be  left  to  the  independent 
action  of  members,  and  are  generally  better  for  not  being  interfered 
with.    If  they  are  required,  they  will  be  voted,  as  in  times  past ;  if 


i  I  •■ 


SAM   SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


263 


not,  they  will  remain  unattcmpted.  No  difficulty  was  ever  felt  oa 
this  score,  nor  any  complaint  ever  made,  until  Lord  Durham  talked 
of  Boards  of  Works,  Commissionerships,  Supervisors,  Lord  Mayors, 
District  Intendants,  and  other  things  that  at  once  awakened  the  cu- 
pidity of  hungry  demagogues  and  rapacious  patriots,  who  forthwith 
demanded  a  party  Government,  that  they  might  have  party-jobs,  and 
the  execution  of  these  lucrative  affairs.  A  Government  by  a  ma- 
jority has  proved  itself,  with  us,  to  be  the  worst  of  tyrannies ;  but  it 
will  be  infinitely  more  oppressive  in  the  Colonies  than  in  the  States, 
for  we  have  republican  institutions  to  modify  its  evils.  Neither  that 
presumptuous  man,  Lord  Durham,  nor  that  reckless  man,  Thompson, 
appear  to  have  had  the  slightest  idea  of  this  difference.  With  us, 
the  commission  of  a  magistrate  expires  of  itself  in  a  few  years.  The 
upper  branch  of  the  legislature  is  elective,  and  the  members  are 
constantly  changed ;  while  everything  else  is  equally  mutable  and 
republican.  In  the  Colonies,  the  magistrates  are  virtually  appointed 
for  life,  and  so  is  a  legislative  councillor,  and  the  principle  has  been, 
times  past,  practically  applied  to  every  office  in  the  country. 


m 


;  if 


Responsible  Government,  then,  in  the  Colonies,  where  the  elective 
franchise  is  so  low  as  to  make  it  almost  universal  suffrage,  is  a  great 
and  unmitigiited  republican  principle  introduced  into  a  country,  not 
only  dependant  on  another,  but  having  monarchical  institutions 
wholly  incompatible  with  its  exercise.  The  magistrate,  in  some  of 
the  provinces,  has  a  most  extensive  judicial  as  well  as  ministerial 
jurisdiction,  and  I  need  not  say  how  important  the  functions  of  a 
legislative  councillor  are.  A  temporary  majority,  having  all  the 
patronage,  (for  such  is  their  claim,  in  whatever  way  they  may  at- 
tempt to  explain  it,)  is,  by  this  new  doctrine,  to  be  empowered  to 
appoint  its  partisans  to  all  these  permanent  offices — an  evil  that  a 
change  of  party  cannot  remedy,  and  therefore  one  that  admits  of  no 
cure.  This  has  been  already  severely  felt  wherever  the  system  has 
been  introduced,  for  reform  has  been  so  long  the  cover  under  which 
disaffection  has  sheltered  itself,  that  it  seldon  includes  among  its 
supporters  any  of  the  upper  class  of  society.  The  party  usually 
consists  of  the  mass  of  the  lower  orders,  and  those  just  immediately 
above  them.  Demagogues  easily  and  constantly  persuade  them 
that  they  are  wronged  by  the  rich,  and  oppressed  by  the  great,  that 
all  who  are  in  a  superior  station  are  enemies  of  the  people,  and  that 
those  who  hold  office  are  living  in  idle  luxury  at  the  expense  of  the 
poor.  Terms  of  reproach  or  derision  are  invented  to  lower  and 
degrade  them  in  the  public  estimation;  cliques,  family  compacts, 
obstructionists,  and  other  nicknames,  are  liberally  applied ;  and  when 
facts  are  wanting,  imagination  is  fruitful,  and  easily  supplies  them. 
To  appoint  persons  from  such  a  party  to  permanent  office,  is  an 
alarming  evil.  To  apply  the  remedy  we  have,  of  the  elective  prin- 
ciple and  short  tenure  of  office,  is  to  introduce  republicanism  into 


"»"'■■•  ^1' 


• 


254 


THE  ATTACHE;    OR, 


every  department.  What  a  delusion,  then,  it  is  to  suppose  that 
Responsible  Government  is  appUcahle  to  the  North  American  pro- 
vinces, or  that  it  is  unytJdng  else  than  practical  independence  as 
regards  England,  with  a  jtracticul  exclusion  from  injluence  and  office 
of  all  that  is  good  or  respectable,  or  loycU,  or  British,  as  regards  the 
colony  ? 

"  The  evil  has  not  been  one  of  your  on-n  seeking,  but  one  that  has 
been  thrust  upon  you  by  the  quackery  of  Englidh  statesmen.  The 
remedy  is  beyond  your  reach ;  it  must  be  applied  by  a  higher  power. 
The  time  is  now  come  when  it  is  necessary  to  si)eak  out,  and  speak 
plainly.  If  the  Secretary  for  the  Colonies  is  not  firm,  Canada  is 
lost  for  ever  J" 


i 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

RESPONSIBLE    G  OVE  RNMENT.— PART    II. 

The  subject  of  Responsible  Government,  which  had  now  become 
n  general  topic  of  conversation,  was  resumed  again  to-day  by  Mr. 
Slick. 

"  Minister,"  said  he,  "  I  quite  concur  with  you  in  your  idee  of 
that  form  of  colony  government.  When  I  was  to  Windsor,  Nova 
Scotia,  a  few  years  ago,  Poulett  Thompson  was  there,  a-waitin'  for 
a  steamer  to  go  to  St.  John,  New  Brunswick;  and  as  I  was  a-passin* 
Mr.  Wilcox's  inn,  who  should  I  see  but  him.  I  knowed  him  the 
moment  I  seed  him,  for  I  had  met  him  to  London  the  year  before, 
when  he  was  only  a  member  of  parliament ;  and  since  the  Reform 
Bill,  you  know,  folks  don't  make  no  more  account  of  a  member  than 
an  alderman ;  indeed,  since  I  have  moved  in  the  first  circles,  I've 
rather  kept  out  oi*  their  way,  for  they  arn't  thought  very  good  com- 
pany in  a  gineral  way,  I  can  tell  you.  Well,  as  soon  as  I  met  him, 
I  knowed  him  at  once,  but  I  wam't  a-goin'  for  to  speak  to  him  fust, 
seein*  that  he  had  become  a  big  bug  since,  and  p'raps  wouldn't  talk 
to  the  likes  of  me.  But  up  he  comes  i"  a  minit,  and  makes  a  low 
bow — he  had  a  very  curious  bow.  It  was  jist  a  stiff  low  bend  iur- 
rard,  as  a  feller  does  afore  he  goes  to  take  an  everlastin'  jump ;  and 
sais  he,  'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Slick?  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to 
walk  in  and  sit  down  awhile,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  We  are  en- 
deavorin',  you  see,'  sais  he,  '  to  assimilate  matters  here  as  much  as 
possible  to  what  exists  in  your  country.'  *  So  I  see,'  sais  I ;  '  but  I 
am  ashamed  to  say,  I  don't  exactly  comprehend  what  responsible 
government  is  in  a  colony.*  '  Well,'  sais  he, '  it  ain't  easy  of  defini- 
tion, but  it  will  work  itself  out,  and  adiust  itself  in  practice.    I  have 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


255 


given  them  a  fresh  hare  to  run,  and  that  is  a  great  matter.    Their 

attention  is  taken  oflf  from  old  sources  of  strife,  and  fixed  on  thin.    I 

have  brolcen  up  all  old  parties,  shuffled  the  cardb,  and  given  them  a 

new  dual  and  new  partners.*    '  Take  care,'  sais  I,  '  that  a  knave 

doesn't  turn  up  for  trump  card.'     He  looked  thoughtful  for  a  mo< 

ment,  and  then  sais,  '  Very  good  hit,  Mr.  Slick ;   very  good  hit, 

indeed ;  and,  between  ourselves,  in  politics,  I  am  afraid  there  arts 

everywhere,  more  knaves  than  honors  in  the  pack.'     I  have  often 

thought  of  that  expression  since — '  a  fresh  hare  to  run ;'  what  a 

principle  of  action  for  a  statesman,  wam't  it  ?     But  it  was  jist  like 

him ;  he  thought  everybody  he  met  was  fools.     One  half  the  people 

to  Canada  didn't  know  what  onder  the  sun  he  meant;  but  they 

knowed  he  was  a  radical,  and  agin  the  Church,  and  agin  all  the  old 

English  families  there,  and  therefore  they  followed  him.     Well,  he 

seed  that,  and  thought  them  fools.    If  he'd  a-lived  a  little  grain 

longer,  he'd  a-found  they  were  more  rogues  than  fools,  them  fellers, 

for  they  had  an  axe  to  grind  as  well  as  him.     Well,  t'other  half  seed 

he  was  a  schemer,  and  a  schemer,  too,  that  wouldn't  stick  at  nothiu' 

to  carry  out  his  eends ;  and  they  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  say  to  him 

at  ail.     Well,  in  course,  he  called  them  fools,  too  ;  if  he'd  a-lived  a 

little  grain  longer,  I  guess  he'd  a  found  out  whose  head  the  fool's 

cap  fitted  best.     '  Well,'  sais  I, '  it  warn't  a  bad  idee  that,  of  givin* 

*em  '  a  fresh  hare  to  run ;'  it  was  grand.    You  had  nothin'  to  do  but 

to  start  the  hare,  say  *  stuboy,'  clap  your  hands  ever  so  loud,  and  off 

goes  the  whole  pack  of  yelpin'  curs  at  his  heels  like  wink.     It's 

kept  them  from  jumpin'  and  fawnin',  and  cryin',  and  cravin',  and 

pawin'  on  you  for  everlastin',  for  somethin'  to  eat,  and  a  botherin'  of 

you,  and  a  spilin'  of  your  clothes,  don't  it  ?     You  give  'em  the  dodge 

properly  that  time ;  you  got  that  lesson  from  the  Indgin  dogs  on  the 

Mississippi,  I  guess,  didn't  you  ?'     '  No,'  sais  he,  lookin'  one  half  out 

of  sorts  and  t'other  half  nobsquizzled ; '  no,  I  was  never  there,'  sais 

he.     '  Not  there  ?'  sais  I,  *  why,  you  don't  say  so  !     Not  there  ?  well, 

it  passes  all ;  for  it's  the  identical  same  dodge.     When  a  dog  wants 

to  cross  the  river  there,  he  goes  to  a  p'int  of  land  that  stretches  away 

r  It  into  the  water,  and  sits  down  on  his  hind  legs,  and  cries  at  the 

tip  eend  of  his  voice,  most  piteous,  and  howls  so  it  would  make  your 

heart  break  to  hear  him.     It's  the  most  horrid  dismal,  soleracoly 

kiound  you  ever  know'd.     Well,  he  keeps  up  this  tune  for  the  matter 

of  half  an      )ur,  till  the  river  and  the  Woods  ring  again.     All  the 

crocodiles  for  three  miles  up  and  three  miles  down,  as  soon  as  they 

hear  it,  run  as  hard  as  they  can  lick  to  the  spot,  for  they  are  very 

humane  boys  them,  cry  like  women  at  nothin'  a'most,  and  always  go 

where  any  '  rittur  is  in  distress,  and  drag  him  right  out  of  it.     Well, 

as  soon  a.    tlie  dog  has  'em  all  collected,  at  a  charity-ball  like,  a- 

waitin'  for  their  supper,  and  a-lickin'  of  their  chops,  off  he  starts, 

hot  toot,  down  the  bank  of  the  river,  for  a  mile  or  so,  and  then 


^"■"'■mZ-t^^" 


256 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


souses  right  in  and>swims  across  as  quick  as  he  can  pull  for  it,  and 
gives  them  the  slip  beautiful.  Now,  your  dodge  and  the  Mississippi 
dog  is  so  much  alike,  I'd  a  bet  anything  a'most,  you  took  the  hint 
from  him.* 

"  *  What  a  capital  story !'  sais  he ; '  how  oncommon  good !  upon 
my  word,  it's  very  apt ;'  jist  then  steam-boat  bell  rung,  and  he  off  to 
the  river,  too,  and  give  me  the  dodge.' 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  he  put  me  in  mind  of.     I  was  to  Squire 
Shears,  the  tailor,  to  Boston,  oncet,  to  get  measured  for  a  coat. 
'  Squire,  sais  I,  *  measure  me  quick,  will  you,  that's  a  good  soul,  for 
I'm  in  a  horrid  hurry.'     '  Can't,'  s  lis  he, '  Sam ;  the  designer  is  out 
— sit  down,  he  will  be  in  directly. '     '  The  designer,'  sais  I,  *  who  the 
devil  is  that,  what  onder  the  sun  do  you  mean  ?'    \V<  :1.,  it  raised  my 
curiosity — so  I  squats  down  on  the  counter  and  lights  i.  cigar.    *  That 
word  has  made  my  fortin',  Sam,'  sais  he.    '  It  is  somethin'  new.    He 
designs  the  coat,  that  is  what  is  vulgarly  called — cuts  it  out ; — and 
a  nice  thing  it  is,  too.     It  requires  a  hght  hand,  great  freedom  of 
toLch,  a  quick  eye,  and  gre?t  taste.     It's  all  he  con  do,  for  he 
couldn't  so  much  as  sow  a  button  on.     He  is  an  Englishman  of  the 
name  of  Street.     Artist  is  a  common  word — a  foremar.  is  a  common 
word — a  measurer  is  low,  very  low  ;  but  *  a  designer,*  oh,  it's  fust 
chop — it's  quite  the  go.     '  My  designer !' — Heavens,  what  a  lucky 
hit  that  was !     "Well,  Mr.  Thompson  put  me  in  mind  of  Street,  the 
designer,  he  didn't  look  onlike  him  in  person  nother,  and  he  was  a 
grand  hand  to  cut  out  work  for  others  to  do.     A  capital  hand  for 
makin*- measures  and  designin*.     But  to  get  back  to  my  story.     He 
said  he  had  given  'em  to  Canada  'a  fresh  hare  to  run.*     Well, 
they've  got  tired  of  the  chace,  at  last,  arter  the  hare  *  for  they  hante 
been  able  to  catch  it.*     They've  returned  on  the  tracks  from  where 
they  started,  and  stand  starin'  at  each  ether  like  fools.     For  the 
fust  time  they  begin  to  ax  themselves  the  question,  what  is  res- 
ponsible government?      Well,  they  don't  know,  and  they  ax  the 
Governor,  and  he  don't  know,  and  he  axes  Lord  John,  the  Colonial 
Secretary,  and  he  don't  know.     At  last  Lord  John  looks  wise  and 
sais,  '  It's  not  onlike  prerogative — its  existence  is  admitted — it's 
only  its  exercise  is  questioned.'     Well,  the  Governor  looks  w.'se  and 
sais  the  same,  and  the  people  repeat  over  the  words  arter  him — look 
puzzled,  and  say  they  don't  exactly  onderstand  the  answ  .r  nother. 
It  reminds  me  of  what  happened  to  me  oncet  to  Brussels.    I  was  on 
the  top  of  a  coach  there,  a-goin'  down  that  dreadful  steep  hill  there, 
not  that  it  is  so  awful  steep  nother ;  but  hills  are  curiosities  there, 
they  are  so  scarce,  and  every  little  sharp  pinch  is  called  a  high  hill 
— -jist  as  every  sizeable  hill  to  Nova  Scotia  is  called  a  mountain. 
Well,  sais  the  coachman  to  me, '  2'ournez  la  mecanique.*     I  didn't 
know  what  the  devil  he  meant — I  didn't  onderstand  French  when  it 
id  talked  that  way,  and  don't  now.     A  man  must  speak  very  slow  in 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


257 


and 


French  for  me  to  guess  what  he  wants.  *"What  in  natur'  is  that?* 
sais  I ;  but  as  he  didn't  onderstand  English,  he  just  wrapt  it  up  in 
three  yards  more  of  French,  and  give  it  back  to  me  agin.  So  there 
was  a  pair  of  us.  Well,  the  coach  began  to  go  down  hill  like  winky, 
and  the  passengers  put  their  heads  out  of  the  windows,  and  bawled 
out,  ^Toumez  la  mecanique/'  and  the  coachman  roared  it  out,  and 
so  did  people  on  the  streets ;  so,  what  does  I  do  but  screams  out,  too, 
'  Toumez  la  mecanique  /'  Well,  coachman  seein'  it  war  no  use 
talkin',  turned  right  about,  put  the  pole  through  a  pastry  cook's 
window — throwed  down  his  bosses,  and  upsot  the  coach,  and  away 
we  all  went,  body  and  bones  into  the  street.  When  I  picked  myself 
up,  the  coachman  comes  up  and  puts  his  fists  into  my  face,  and  sais, 
'  You  great  lummakin  fool,  why  didn't  you  toume  la  mecanique  T 
and  the  passengers  got  all  round  me  shakin'  their  fists,  too,  sayin', 

*  Why  didn't  you  toume  la  mecanique  T  I  didn't  know  what  the 
plag^^e  they  meant ;  so,  I  ups  fist  and  shakes  it  at  them,  too,  and 
roartj  .  ut, '  Why,  in  the  name  of  sense,'  &ais  I, '  didn't  you  toume  la 
mecanique  V  Well,  they  began  to  larf  at  last,  and  one  on  *em  that 
spoke  a  little  English,  sais, '  It  meant  to  turn  the  handle  of  a  little 
machine  that  put  a  drag  on  the  wheels.'  '  Oh !'  pais  I, '  is  that  it  ? 
What  the  plague's  got  into  the  feller  not  to  speak  plain  English,  if 
he  had  a-done  that,  I  should  have  onderstood  him  then.' 

"  Now  that's  the  case  with  this  Responsible  Government,  it  tante 
plain  English,  and  they  donH  onderstand  it.  As  soon  as  the  state 
coach  begins  to  run  down  hill,  the  people  call  out  to  the  Governor, 
'  Toumez  la,  mecanique  /'  and  he  gets  puzzled,  and  roars  out  to 
Secretary,  '  Toumez  la  mecanique  P  and  he  gets  mad,  and  sais, 
'  D — n  you !  toumez  la  mecanique  yourself!'  None  on  'em  knows 
the  word — the  coach  runs  down  the  hill  like  lightnin',  upsets  and 
smashes  everything.  That  comes  a  not  speakin'  plain  English. 
There  is  only  one  party  pleased,  and  that's  a  party  that  likes  to  see 
all  governments  upsot.  They  say,  '  It's  goin'  on  beautiful.  It  don't 
want  a  turn  of  the  mecanique  at  all,'  and  sing  out,  as  the  boatman 
did  to  his  son  when  the  barge  was  a  goin'  over  the  falls  to  Ohio— 

*  Let  her  went,  Peter,  don't  stop  her,  she's  wrathy.' — What  Minister 
sais  is  true  enough.  Government  is  intended  for  tha  benefit  of  all. 
All  parties,  therefore,  should,  as  far  as  possible,  have  a  voice  in  the 
Council — and  equal  justice  be  done  to  all — so  that  as  all  pay  their 
shot  to  its  support,  all  should  have  a  share  in  it^  advantages.  Them 
fellers  to  Canada  have  been  a  howlin'  in  the  wilderness  for  years — 

*  We  are  governed  by  a  party — a  clique — a  family  compact.'  Well, 
England  believed  'em,  and  the  party — the  clique — and  the  family 
compact  was  broken  up.  No  sooner  said  than  done — they  turn  right 
round,  as  quick  as  wink,  and  say — '  We  want  a  party  government, 
now — not  that  party,  but  our  party — not  that  clique,  but  this  clique 
— not  that  family  compact,  but  this  family  compact.    For  that  old 


258 


THE  attache;  or. 


n 


party,  clique,  and  compact  were  British  in  their  language— British 
in  their  feelings,  and  British  in  their  blood.  Our  party  clique  and 
compact  IS  not  so  narrow  and  restricted,  for  it  is  French  in  its 
language,  Yankee  in  its  feelin',  and  Republican  in  its  blood.'  " 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  with  that  mildness  of  manner  which 
was  his  great  characteristic  and  charm,  "  that  is  strong  language, 
very." 

"  Strong  language,  Sir !"  said  the  Colonel,  rising  in  great  wrath, 
"  it's  infamous — none  but  a  scoundrel  or  a  fool  would  talk  that  way. 
D — n  me,  Sir !  what  are  them  poor  benighted  people  strugglin'  for, 
but  for  freedom  and  independence  ?  They  want  a  leader,  that's  what 
they  want.  They  should  fust  dress  themselves  as  Indgins — go  to  the 
wharves,  and  throw  all  the  tea  in  the  river,  as  we  did  ;  and  then  in 
the  dead  of  the  night,  seize  on  the  high  hill  back  of  Montreal  and 
fortify  it,  and  when  the  British  come,  wait  till  they  see  the  whites 
of  their  eyes,  as  we  did  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  give  them  death  and 
destruction  for  breakfast,  as  we  did.  D — n  me.  Sir !"  and  he  seized 
the  poker  and  waved  it  over  his  head,  "  let  them  do  that,  and  send 
for  me,  and,  old  as  I  am,  I'll  lead  them  on  to  victory  or  death.  Let 
'em  send  for  me.  Sir,  and,  by  the  'tarnal,  I'll  take  a  few  of  my  *  north- 
eend  boys'  with  me,  and  show  'em  what  clear  grit  is.  Let  the  Brit- 
ish send  Wellington  out  to  command  the  troops  if  they  dare,  and  I'll 
let  him  know  Bunker  Hill  ain't  Waterloo,  I  know.  Rear  rank,  take 
open  order — right  shoulders  forward — march;"  and  he  marched 
round  the  room  and  sat  down. 

"  It's  very  strong  language  that,  Sam,"  continued  Mr.  Hopewell, 
who  never  noticed  the  interruptions  of  the  Colonel,  "  very  strong 
language  indeed,  too  strong,  I  fear.  It  may  wound  the  feelings  of 
others,  and  that  we  have  no  right  to  do  unnecessarily.  Squire,  if 
you  report  this  conversation,  as  I  suppose  you  will,  leave  out  all  the 
last  sentence  or  two,  and  insert  this :  '  Responsible  Government  is  a 
term  not  well  defined  or  understood,  and  appears  to  be  only  appli- 
cable to  an  independent  country.  But  whatever  interpretation  is 
put  upon  it,  one  thing  is  certain,  the  Government  of  Great  Britain 
over  her  colonies  is  one  of  the  lightest,  kindest,  mildest^  and  most  pa- 
ternal in  the  whole  world.' " 


!i 


I 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


259 


rV- 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

i'  „ .  ' 

THE    DUKE    OF    KENT    AND    HIS    TRUMPETER. 

Mr.  Slick's  weak  point  was  his  vanity.  From  having  risen 
suddenly  in  the  world,  by  the  unaided  efforts  of  a  vigorous,  unedu- 
cated mind,  he  very  naturally  acquired  great  self-reliance.  He  un- 
dervalued every  obstacle,  or,  what  is  more  probable,  overlooked  tlie 
greater  part  of  those  that  lay  in  his  way.  To  a  vulgar  man  like 
him,  totally  ignorant  of  the  modes  of  life,  a  thousand  little  usages  of 
society  would  unavoidably  wholly  escape  his  notice,  while  the  selec- 
tion, collocation,  or  pronunciation  of  words  were  things  for  which  he 
appeared  to  have  no  perception  and  no  ear.  Diffidence  is  begotten 
by  knowledge,  presumption  by  ignorance.  The  more  we  know,  the 
more  extended  the  field  appears  upon  which  we  have  entered,  and 
the  more  insignificant  and  imperfect  our  acquisition.  The  less  we 
know,  the  less  opportunity  w«5  have  of  ascertaining  what  remains  to 
be  learned.  His  success  in  his  trade,  his  ignorance,  the  vulgarity 
of  his  early  occupations  and  habits,  and  his  subsequent  notoriety  as 
a  humorist,  all  contributed  to  render  him  exceedingly  vain.  His 
vanity  was  of  two  kinds,  ntxtional  and  personal.  The  first  he  has  in 
common  with  a  vast  number  of  Americans.  He  calls  his  country 
"  the  greatest  nation  atween  the  Poles," — he  boasts  "  that  the  Yan- 
kees are  the  most  free  and  enlightened  citizens  on  the  face  of  the 
airth,  and  that  their  institutions  are  the  perfection  of  human  wisdom."  \ 
He  is  of  his  father's  opinion,  that  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  the 
greatest  battle  ever  fought ;  that  their  naval  victories  were  the  most 
briUiant  achievements  ever  heard  of;  that  New  "York  is  superior  to 
London  in  beauty,  and  will  soon  be  so  in  extent ;  and  finally,  that 
one  Yankee  is  equal  in  all  respects  to  two  Englishmen,  at  least.  If 
the  Thames  is  mentioned,  he  calls  it  an  insignificant  creek,  and  re- 
minds you  that  the  Mississippi  extends  inland  a  greater  distance  than 
the  space  between  Nova  Scotia  and  England.  If  a  noble  old  park 
tree  is  pointed  out  to  him,  he  calls  it  a  pretty  little  scrub  oak,  and 
immediately  boasts  of  the  pines  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  which  he 
affirms  are  two  hundred  feet  high.  Show  him  a  waterfall,  and  it  is 
a  noisy  babbling  li'ttle  cascade  compared  with  Niagara ;  or  a  lake, 
and  it  is  a  mere  duck-pond  in  comparison  with  Erie,  Superior,  Cham- 
plain,  or  Michigan.    It  has  been  remarked  by  most  travellers,  that 


35 


■^ 


260 


THE    ATTACHE  ;    OR, 


this  sort  of  thing  is  so  common  in  the  States,  that  it  may  be  said  to 
be  almost  universal.  This  is  not  now  tlie  ease. '  It  has  prevailed 
more  generally  heretofore  than  at  present,  but  it  is  now  not  much 
more  obvious  than  in  the  people  of  any  other  country.  The  neces' 
sityfor  it  no  longer  exists.  That  the  Americans  are  proud  of  having 
won  their  independence  at  the  point  of  the  sword,  from  the  most 
powerful  nation  in  the  world,  under  all  the  manifold  disadvantages 
of  poverty,  dispersion,  disunion,  want  of  discipline  in  their  soldiers, 
and  experience  in  their  officers,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  They 
have  reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  It  is  the  greatest  achievement  of 
modern  times.  That  they  are  proud  of  the  consummate  skill  of  their 
forefathers  in  framing  a  constitution  the  best  suited  to  their  position 
and  their  wants,  and  one  withal  the  most  difficult  in  the  world  to  ad- 
just, not  only  with  proper  checks  and  balances,  but  with  any  checks 
at  all, — at  a  time  too  when  there  was  no  model  before  them,  and  all 
experience  against  them,  is  still  less  to  be  wondered  at.  Nor  have 
we  any  reason  to  object  to  the  honest  pride  they  exhibit  of  their 
noble  country,  their  enlightened  and  enterprising  people,  their  beau- 
tiful cities,  their  magnificent  rivers,  their  gigantic  undertakings.  The 
8udden  rise  of  nations,  like  the  sudden  rise  of  individuals,  begets 
under  similar  circumstances  similar  effects.  While  there  was  the 
freshness  of  novelty  about  all  these  things,  there  was  national  vanity. 
It  is  now  an  old  story — their  laurels  sit  easy  on  them.  They  are 
accustomed  to  them,  and  they  occupy  less  of  their  thoughts,  and  of 
course  less  of  their  conversation,  than  formerly.  At  first,  too,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  there  existed  a  necessity  for  it. 

Good  policy  dictated  the  expediency  of  cultivating  this  self-com- 
placency in  the  people,  however  much  good  taste  might  fo  bid  it. 
As  their  constitution  was  based  on  self-government,  it  was  indispens- 
able to  raise  the  people  in  their  own  estimation,  and  to  make  them 
feel  the  heavy  responsibility  that  rested  upon  them,  in  order  that 
they  might  qualify  themselves  for  the  part  they  were  called  upon  to 
act.  As  they  were  weak,  it  was  needful  to  confirm  their  courage  by 
strengthening  their  self-reliance.  As  they  were  poor,  it  was  proper 
to  elevate  their  tone  of  mind,  by  constantly  setting  before  them  their 
high  destiny ;  and  as  their  Republic  was  viewed  with  jealousy  and 
alarm  by  Europe,  it  was  important  to  attach  the  nation  to  it,  in  the 
event  of  aggression,  by  extolling  it  above  all  others.  The  first  gen- 
eration, to  whom  all  this  was  new,  has  now  passed  away ;  the  second 
has  nearly  disappeared,  and  with  the  novelty,  the  excess  of  national 
vanity  which  it  necessarily  engendered  will  cease  also.  Personal 
vanity  stands  on  wholly  different  grounds.  There  not  only  is  no  ne- 
cessity, but  no  justification  for  it  whatever.  It  is  always  offensive, 
sometimes  even  disgusting.  Mr.  Hopewell,  who  was  in  the  habit 
of  admonishing  the  Attache  whenever  he  thought  admonition  neces- 
sary, took  occasion  to-day  to  enlarge  on  both  points.    As  to  the  first. 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


261 


it 


none- 
nsive, 
habit 
■aeces- 
first, 


he  observed,  that  it  was  an  American  failing,  and  boasting  abroad, 
as  he  often  did,  iif  extravagant  terms  of  his  country,  was  a  serious 
injury  to  it,  for  it  always  produced  argument,  and  as  those  who  argue 
always  convince  themselves  in  proportion  as  they  fail  to  convince 
others,  the  only  result  of  ciuch  discussions  was  to  induce  strangers  to 
search  for  objections  to  the  United  States  that  they  knew  not  before, 
and  then  adopt  them  forever.  But  as  for  personal  boasts,  he  said, 
they  were  beneath  contempt. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  am  not  the 
fool  you  take  me  to  be.  I  deny  the  charge.  I  don't  boast  a  bit 
more  nor  any  foreigner,  in  fact,  I  don't  think  I  boast  at  all.  Hear 
old  Bull  here,  every  day,  talkin'  about  the  low  Irish,  the  poor,  mean, 
proud  Scotch,  the  Yankee  fellers,  the  horrid  foreigners,  the  *  nothin' 
but  a  colonist,'  dlid  so  on.  He  asks  me  out  to  entertain  me,  and 
then  sings  '  Britannia  rules  the  waves.*  My  old  grandmother  used 
to  rule  a  copy  book,  and  I  wrote  on  it.  I  guess  the  British  rule  the 
waves,  and  we  write  victory  on  it.  Then  hear  that  noisy,  splutterin' 
crittur,  Bull-Frog.  He  talks  you  dead  about  the  Grand  Nation,  the 
beautiful  France,  and  the  capitol  of  the  world — Paris.  ^  What  do  I 
do  ?  Why  I  only  say,  *  our  great,  almighty  republic  is  the  toplofti- 
est  nation  atween  the  Poles.'  That  ain't  boastin',  nor  crackin',  nor 
nothin'  of  the  sort.  It's  only  jist  a  fact,  like — all  men  must  die — or 
any  other  truth.  Oh,  catch  me  a-boastin' !  I  know  a  trick  worth 
two  of  that.  It  ain't  pleasant  to  be  your  own  trumpeter  always,  I 
can  tell  you.  It  reminds  me,"  said  he  (for  he  could  never  talk  for 
five  minutes  without  an  illustration),  "  it  reminds  me  of  what  hap- 
pened to  Queen's  father  in  Nova  Scotia,  Prince  Edward  as  they 
called  him  then. 

"  Oncet  upon  a  time  he  was  travellin*  on  the  Great  Western  road, 
and  most  of  the  rivers,  those  days,  had  ferry-boats  and  no  bridges. 
So,  his  trumpeter  was  sent  afore  him  to  'nounce  his  comin',  with  a 
great  French-horn,  to  the  ferryman,  who  lived  on  t'other  side  of  the 
water.  Well,  his  trumpeter  was  a  Jarman,  and  didn't  speak  a  word 
of  English.  Most  all  that  family  was  very  fond  of  Jarmans,  they 
settle  them  everywhere  a'most.  When  he  came  to  the  ferry,  the 
magistrates  and  nobs,  and  big  bugs  of  the  country  were  all  drawn' 
up  in  state,  waitin'  for  Prince.  (In  those  days,  abusin'  and  insultin' 
a  Governor,  kickin'  up  shindy  in  a  province,  and  playin'  the  devil 
there,  warn't  no  recommendation  in  Downin'  Street.  Colonists 
hadn't  got  their  eyes  open  then,  and  at  that  time  there  was  no 
school  for  the  blind.  It  was  Pullet  Thompson  taught  them  to  read. 
Poor  critturs !  they  didn't  know  no  better  then^  so  out  they  all  goes 
to  meet  King's  son,  and  pay  their  respects,  and  when  Kissinkirk 
came  to  the  bank,  and  they  seed  him  all  dressed  in  green,  covered 
with  gold  lace,  and  splenderiferous  cocked-hat  on,  with  lace  on  it,  and 
a  great  big,  old-fashioned  brass  French-horn,  that  was  rubbed  bright 


2;z: 


262 


THB  ATTACH^;   OR, 


': 


enough  to  put  out  eyes,  a-hangln*  over  his  shoulder,  they  took  him 
for  the  Prince,  for  they'd  never  seed  nothin'  half  so  fine  afore.  The 
bugle  they  took  for  gold,  'cause,  in  course,  a  Prince  wouldn't  wear 
nothin'  but  gold,  and  they  thought  it  was  his  huntin'  horn — and  his 
bein'  alone,  they  took  for  state,  'cause  he  was  too  big  for  any  one  to 
ridu  with.  So,  they  all  off*  hats  at  once  to  old  Kissinkirk,  the  Jar- 
man  trumpeter.     Lord,  when  he  see  that,  he  was  bunfungered ! 

" '  Thun  sie  ihren  hut  an  du  verdamnter  thor,'  sais  he ;  which 
means,  in  English,  *  Put  on  your  hats,  you  cussed  fools.*  Weli,  they 
was  fairly  stumpt.  They  looked  fust  at  him  and  bowed,  and  then  at 
each  other ;  and  stared  vacant ;  and  then  he  sais  agin,  *  Mynheers, 
damn !'  for  that  was  the  only  English  word  he  knew,  and  then  he 
stampt  agin,  and  sais  over,  in  Dutch,  once  more,  to  put  on  their  hats ; 
and  then  called  over  as  many  (crooked)  Jarman  oaths  as  would  reach 
across  the  river,  if  they  were  stretched  out  sti'ait.  A  What  in  natur* 
is  that?'  sais  one;  'Why,  high  Dutch,'  sais  an  old  man  ;  'I  heerd 
the  Waldecker  troops  at  the  evakyation  of  New  York  speak  it. 
Don't  you  ktiow  the  King's  father  was  a  high  Dutchman,  from 
Brunswick ;  in  course,  the  Prince  can't  speak  English.'/'  Well,'  sais 
the  other,  '  do  you  know  what  it  means  ?'  A  In  course,  I  do,'  sais 
Loyalist,  (and,  oh,  if  some  o'  them  boys.couldn't  lie,  I  don't  know 
who  could,  that's  all ;  by  their  own  accounts,  it's  a  wonder  how  we 
ever  got  independence,  for  them  fellers  swore  they  won  every  battle 
that  was  fought,)  '  in  course,  I  do,'  sais  he, '  that  is,'  sais  he, '  I  used 
to  did  to  speak  it  at  Long  Island,  but  that's  a  long  time  ago.  Yes,  I 
understand  a  leetle,'  sais  Loyalist.  '  His  Royal  Highness'  excellent 
Majesty  sais, — Man  the  ferry-boat,  and  let  the  magistrates  row  me 
ovtr  the  ferry. — It  is  a  beautiful  language,  is  Dutch.'  / '  So  it  is,* 
sais  they,  '  if  one  could  only  understand  it,'  and  off*  they  goes,  and 
spreads  out  a  great  roll  of  home-spun  cloth  for  him  to  walk  on,  and 
then  they  form  two  lines  for  him  to  pass  through  to  the  boat.  Lord  I 
when  he  comes  to  the  cloth  he  stops  agin,  and  stamps  like  a  jackass 
when  the  files  tease  him,  and  gives  the  cloth  a  kick  up,  and  wouldn't 
walk  on  it,  and  sais,  in  high  Dutch,  in  a  high  Jarman  voice,  too, 
'  You  infarnal  fools! — ^you  stupid  blockheads! — you  cussed  jackasses!* 
and  a  great  deal  more  of  them  pretty  words,  and  then  walked  on. 
'Oh,  dear!'  sais  they,  'only  see  how  he  kicks  the  cloth;  that's  cause 
it's  liomespun.  Oh,  dear !  but  what  does  lie  say  ?'  sais  they.  /Well, 
Loyalist  felt  stumpt ;  he  knew  some  screw  was  loose  with  the  Prince 
by  the  way  he  shook  his  fist,  but  what  he  couldn't  tell ;  but  as  he  had 
begun  to  lie,  he  had  to  go  knee  deep  into  it,  and  push  on.  '  He  sais, 
he  hopes  he  may  die  this  blessed  minit  if  he  won't  tell  his  father,  the 
old  King,  when  he  returns  to  home,  how  well  you  have  behaved,* 
sais  he,  '  and  tliat  it's  a  pity  to  soil  such  beautiful  cloth.'  /'Oh !'  sais 
they, '  was  that  it  ?  we  was  afraid  somethin'  or  another  had  gone 
wrong ;  come,  let's  give  three  cheers  for  the  Princu's  Most  Excellent 


SAM  SLICE  IN   ENGLAND. 


263 


Majesty/  and  they  made  the  woods  and  the  river  ring  agin.  Oh, 
how  mud  Kissenkirk  was !  he  expected  the  Prince  would  tie  him  up 
and  give  him  five  hundred  lashes  for  his  impedence  in  representin* 
of  him.  Oh,  he  was  ready  to  bust  with  rage  and  vexation.  He 
darsn't  strike  any  one,  or  he  would  have  given  'em  a  slap  with  the 
h^rn  in  a  moment,  he  was  so  wrathy.  So,  what  does  he  do  as  they 
was  holdin'  the  boat,  but  ups  trumpet  and  blew  a  blast  in  the  Gustos' 
ear,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  left  him  hard  of  hearin'  on  that  side  for  a 
month  ;  and  he  sais,  in  high  Dutch,  *  Tunder  and  blitzen !  .Take 
that,  you  old  fool ;  I  wish  I  could  blow  you  into  the  river.'  'Well, 
they  rowed  him  over  the  river,  and  then  formed  agin  two  lines,  and 
Kissenkirk  passed  up  atween  'em  as  sulky  as  a  bear ;  and  then  he 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  took  out  somethin',  and  held  it  out  to 
Custos,  who  dropt  right  down  on  his  knee  in  a  minit,  and  received 
it,  and  it  was  a  fourpenny  bit.  Then,  Kissinkirk  waved  his  hand  to 
them  to  be  off  quick-stick,  and  muttered  agin  somethin',  which 
Loyalist  said  was, '  Go  across  agin  and  wait  for  my  sarvants,'  which 
they  did.  / '  Oh !'  sais  the  magistrate  to  Custos,  as  they  was  a-goin' 
back  agin,  'how  could  you  take  pay,  squire  ?  How  could  you  receive 
money  from  Prince  ?  Our  county  is  disgraced  for  ever.  You  have 
made  us  feel  as  mean  as  Ingians.'  / '  I  wouldn't  have  taken  it,  if  it 
had  been  worth  anythin',  sais  Custos, '  but  didn't  you  see  his  delicacy ; 
he  knowed  that,  too,  as  well  as  I  did,  so  he  offered  me  a  fourpenny 
bit,  as  much  as  to  say,  'You  are  above  all  pay,  but  accept  the 
smallest  thing  possible,  as  a  keepsake  fi'om  King's  son.'  '  Those 
were  his  very  words,*  sais  Loyalist ;  '  I'll  swear  to  'em,  the  very 
identical  ones.'  /'  I  thought  so,*  sais  Custos,  looking  big.  '  I  hope  I 
know  what  is  due  to  his  Majesty's  iloyal  Highness,  and  what  is  due 
to  me,  also,  as  Custos  of  this  county.  And  he  drew  himself  up 
stately,  and  said  nothin',  and  looked  as  wise,  -  as  tlie  owl  who  had 
been  studyin'  a  speech  for  five  years,  and  intended  to  speak  it  when 
he  got  it  by  heart.  /Jist  then,  down  comes  Prince  and  all  his  party, 
galloppin'  like  mad  to  the  ferry,  for  he  used  to  ride  always  as  if  old 
Nick  was  at  his  heels ;  jist  like  a  streak  of  lightnin'.  So,  up  goes 
the  Custos  to  Prince,  quite  free  and  easy,  without  so  much  as 
touchin'  his  hat,  or  givin'  him  the  time  o'  day.  '  What  the  plague 
kept  you  so  long  ?'  sais  he ;  '  your  master  has  been  waitin'  for  you 
this  half-hour.  Come,  bear  a  hand,  the  Prince  is  all  alone  over 
there.*  ^t  was  some  time  afore  Prince  made  out  what  he  meant ; 
but  when  he  did,  if  he  didn't  let  go,  it's  a  pity.  He  almost  upsot 
the  boat,  he  larfed  so  obstroperous.  One  squall  o'  larfin'  was  hardly 
over  atbre  another  come  on.  Oli,  it^  was  a  tempestical  time,  you 
may  depend  ;  and  when  he'd  got  over  one  fit  of  it,  he'd  say, '  Only 
think  of  them  takin'  old  Kissinkirk  for  me !'  and  he'd  larf  agin  ready 
to  split.  Kissinkirk  was  frightened  to  death ;  he  didn't  know  how 
Prince  would  take  it,  or  what  he  would  do,  for  he  was  a  awful  strict 


r 


264 


THE  A'itache;  or, 


officer;  but  when  he  seed  liim  lavf  so,  he  knowed  all  was  i  ght. 
Poor  old  Kissinkirk !  the  last  time  I  seed  him  was  to  Windsor.  He 
lived  in  a'f'arm-house  there,  on  charity.  He'd  larnt  a  little  English, 
though  not  much.  It  was  him  told  me  the  story ;  and  when  he 
wound  it  up,  he  sais,  '  It  tante  always  sho  shafe,  Mishter  Shlick,  to 
be  your  own  Urumpeter ;'  and  1*11  tell  you  what,  Minister,  I  am  of 
the  same  opinion  with  the  old  bugler.  It  is  not  always  safe  to  be 
one's  own  trumpeter,  and  that's  a  fact.^ 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

REPEAL. 

Ever  since  we  have  been  in  London,  we  have  taken  "  The 
Times  "and  "The  Morning  Chronicle,"  so  as  to  have  before  us  both 
sides  of  every  question.  This  morning,  these  papers  were,  as  usual, 
laid  on  the  breakfast-table ;  and  Mr.  Slick,  after  glancing  at  their 
contents,  turned  to  Mr.  Hopewell,  and  said,  "  Minister,  what's  your 
opinion  of  O'Conneil's  proceedings?     What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"  I  think  differently  from  most  men,  Sam,"  he  said ;  "  I  neither 
join  in  the  junqualified  praise  of  his  friends,  nor  in  the  wholesale 
abuse  of  his  enemies,  for  there  is  much  to  approve  and  much  to 
censure  in  him.  He  lias  done,  perhaps,  as  much  good  and  as  much 
harm  to  Ireland,  as  her  best  friend  or  her  worst  enemy.  I  am  an 
old  man  now,  daily  treading  on  the  confines  of  the  grave,  and  not 
knowing  the  moment  the  ground  may  sink  under  me  and  precipitate 
me  into  it.  I  look,  therefore,  on  all  human  beings  with  calmness 
and  impartiality,  and  besides  being  an  American  and  a  Republican, 
I  have  no  direct  interest  in  the  man's  success  or  failure,  farther  than 
they  may  affect  the  happiness  of  the  grea:,  human  family.  Looking 
at  the  struggle,  therefore,  as  from  an  eminence,  a  mere  spectator,  I 
can  see  the  errors  of  both  sides,  as  clearly  as  a  by-stander  does 
those  of  two  competitors  at  a  game  of  chess  My  eyesight,  however, 
is  dim,  and  1  find  1  cannot  trust  to  the  report  of  others.  Party  spirit 
runs  so  high  in  Ireland,  it  is  difficult  to  ascertain  the  trutli  of  any- 
thing. Facts  are  sometimes  invented,  often  distorted,  and  always 
magnified.  No  man  either  thinks  kindly  or  speaks  temperately  of 
another,  but  a  deadly  animosity  has  superseded  Christian  charity  in 
that  unhappy  land.  We  must  not  trust  to  the  opinions  of  others, 
tiierefore,  but  endeavor  to  form  our  own.  Now,  he  is  charged  with 
being  a  Roman  Catholic.  The  answer  to  this  is,  he  has  a  right  to 
be  one  if  he  chooses — as  much  right  as  I  have  to  be  a  Chui'chman ; 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


265 


that  if  I  difTer  from  him  on  some  points,  I  concur  with  him  in  more, 
and  only  grieve  we  cannot  agree  in  all ;  and  that  whatever  objec- 
tions I  have  to  his  Church,  I  have  a  thousand  times  more  respect 
for  it  than  I  have  for  a  thousand  dissenting  political  sects,  that 
disfigure  and  degrade  the  Christian  world.  Then,  they  say,  *  Oh, 
yes,  but  he  is  a  bigoted  Papist  I'  Well,  if  they  have  nothing  worse 
than  this  to  allege  against  him,  it  don't  amount  to  much.  Bigotry 
means  an  unusual  devotion,  and  an  extraordinary  attachment  to 
one's  church.  I  don't  see  how  a  sincere  and  zealous  man  can  be 
otherwise  than  bigoted.  It  would  be  well,  if  he  were  imitated  in 
this  respect  by  Protestants.  Instead  of  joining  schismatics  and  sec- 
tarians, a  little  more  bigoted  attachment  to  our  excellent  Mother 
Church  would  be  safer  and  more  respectable  for  them,  and  more  con- 
ducive to  the  interests  of  true  religion.  But  the  great  charge  is,  he 
is  an  Agitator ;  now,  I  don't  like  agitation,  even  in  a  good  cause.  It 
is  easy  to  open  flood-gates,  but  always  difficult,  and  sometimes  im- 
possible to  close  them  again.  No ;  I  do  not  like  agitation.  It  is  a 
fearful  word.  But  if  ever  there  was  a  man  justified  in  resorting  to 
it,  which  I  doubt,  it  was  O'Connell.  A  Romish  Catholic  by  birth, 
and,  if  you  will  have  it,  a  bigoted  one  by  education,  he  saw  his  coun- 
trymen laboring  under  disabilities  on  account  of  their  faith, — what 
could  be  more  natural  for  him  than  to  suppose  that  he  was  serving 
both  God  and  his  country,  by  freeing  his  Cliurch  from  its  distinctive 
and  degrading  badge,  and  elevating  Irishmen  to  a  political  equality 
with  Englishmen.  The  blessings  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  grati- 
tude of  the  people,  hailed  him  wherever  he  went ;  and  when  he 
attained',  the  victory,  and  wrested  the  concession  from  him  who 
wrested  the  sceptre  from  Napoleon,  he  earned  the  title,  which  he 
has  since  worn,  of  *  the  Liberator.'  What  a  noble  and  elevated  po- 
sition he  then  stood  in !  But,  Sam,  agitation  is  progressive.  The 
impetus  of  his  onward  course  was  too  great  to  sutler  him  to  rest, 
and  the  '  Liberator '  has  sunk  again  into  the  Agitator,  without  the 
sanctity  of  the  cause  to  justify,  or  the  approval  of  mankind  to  re- 
ward him.  Had  he,  then,  paused  for  a  moment,  even  for  a  moment, 
when  he  gained  emancipation,  and  looked  around  him,  what  a  pros- 
pect lay  before  him  whichever  way  he  turned,  for  diflFusing  peace 
and  happiness  over  Ireland !  Having  secured  an  equality  of  politi- 
cal rights  to  his  countrymen,  and  elevated  the  position  of  the  peasan- 
try.— had  he,  then,  endeavored  to  secure  the  rights  of  the  landlord, 
and  revive  the  sympathy  between  them  and  their  tenants,  which 
agitation  had  extinguished ;  had  he,  by  suppressing  crime  and  out- 
rage, rendered  it  sate  for  absentees  to  return,  or  for  capital  to  flow 
into  his  impoverished  country — had  he  looked  into  the  future  for 
images  of  domestic  comfort  and  tranquillity  to  delight  the  imagina- 
tion, instead  of  resorting  to  the  dark  vistas  of  the  past  for  scenes  of 
oppression  and  violence  to  inflame  the  passions  of  his  countrymen — 

12 


:r 


266 


THE  A1TACHE:   OR, 


had  he  held  out  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  to  his  Protestant 
brethren,  and  invited  and  induced  them  to  live  in  the  unity  of  love 
and  the  bonds  of  peace  with  their  llomish  neighbors,  his  second 
victory  would  have  surpassed  the  first,  and  the  stern  Liberator 
would  have  been  again  crowned  amid  the  benedictions  of  all,  as 
*  the  Father '  of  his  country.  But,  alas !  agitation  has  no  tranquil 
eddies  to  repose  in ;  it  rides  on  the  billow  and  the  tempest,  and  lives 
but  on  the  troubled  waters  of  the  deep. 

"  Instead  of  this  happy  condition,  what  is  now  the  state  of  Ireland? 
The  landlord  flies  in  alarm  from  a  home  that  is  no  longer  safe  from 
the  midnight  marauder.  The  capitalist  refuses  to  open  his  purse  to 
develop  the  resources  of  a  country,  that  is  threatened  with  a  civil 
war.  Men  of  different  creeds  pass  each  other  with  looks  of  defiance, 
and  with  that  stern  silence  that  marks  the  fixed  resolve,  to  '  do  or 
die.'  The  Government,  instead  of  being  able  to  ameliorate  the 
condition  of  the  poor,  is  engaged  in  garrisoning  its  forts,  supplying  its 
arsenals,  and  preparing  for  war  ;  while  the  poor  deluded  people  are 
drawn  away  from  their  peaceful  and  honest  pursuits,  to  assemble  in 
large  bodies,  that  they  may  be  inflamed  by  seditious  speeches,  and 
derive  fresh  confidence  from  the  strength  or  impunity  of  numbers. 

"  May  God  of  his  infinite  goodness  have  mercy  on  the  author  of 
all  these  evils,  and  so  purify  his  heart  from  the  mistaken  motives 
that  now  urge  his  onwards  in  him  unhappy  course,  that  he  may  turn 
and  repent  him  of  his  evil  way,  while  return  is  yet  practicable,  and 
repentance  not  too  late ! 

"  Now,  what  is  all  this  excitement  to  lead  to?  A  Repeal  of  the 
Union  ?  what  is  that  ?  Is  it  independence,  or  is  it  merely  a  demand 
for  a  dependant  local  legislature  ?  If  it  is  independence,  look  into 
futurity,  and  behold  the  state  of  Ireland  at  the  end  of  a  few  years. 
You  see  that  the  Protestants  of  the  North  have  driven  out  all  of  the 
opposite  faith,  and  that  the  Catholics,  on  their  part,  have  exiled  or 
exterminated  all  the  heretics  from  the  South.  You  behold  a 
Chinese  wall  of  separation  running  across  the  island,  and  two  inde- 
pendent, petty,  separate  States,  holding  but  little  intercourse,  and 
hating  each  other  with  an  intensity  only  to  be  equalled  by  tribes  of 
savages.  And  how  is  this  unhappy  condition  to  be  attained  ?  By  a 
cruel,  a  wicked,  and  a  merciless  civil  war,  for  no  war  is  so  bloody  as 
a  domestic  one,  especially  where  religion,  terrified  at  its  horrors,  flies 
from  the  country  in  alarm,  and  the  banner  of  the  Cross  is  torn  from 
the  altar  to  be  desecrated  in  the  battle-field.  Sam,  I  have  seen  one, 
may  my  eyes  never  behold  another.  No  tongue  can  tell,  no  pen 
describe,  no  imagination  conceive  its  horrors.  Even  now,  after  the 
lapse  of  half  a  ceutux'y,  I  shudder  at  the  recollection  of  it.  If  it  be 
not  independence  that  is  sought,  but  a  local  legislature,  then  Ireland 
descends  from  an  integral  part  of  the  empire  into  a  colony,  and  the 
social  position  of  the  people  is  deteriorated.    Our  friend,  the  Squire, 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


267 


and 


who,  at  this  moment,  is  what  O'Connell  desires  to  be,  a  colonist,  is 
laboring  incessantly  to  confirm  and  strengthen  the  connexion  of  the 
possessions  abroad  with  England,  to  break  down  all  distinctions,  to 
procure  for  his  countrymen  equal  rights  and  privileges,  and  eitlier 
to  abolish  that  word  '  English,'  and  substitute  '  British,'  or  to  oblite- 
rate the  term  '  Colonial,'  and  extend  the  generic  term  of  English  to 
all.  He  is  demanding  a  closer  and  more  intimate  connexion,  and 
instead  of  excluding  Colonists  from  Parliament,  is  anxious  for  them 
to  be  represented  there.  In  so  doing,  he  evinces  both  his  patriotism 
and  his  loyalty.  O'Connell,  on  the  contrary,  is  struggling  to  revive 
the  distinction  of  races,  to  awaken  the  hostility  of  separate  creeds, 
to  dissolve  the  Political  Union.  If  he  effects  his  purpose,  he  merely 
weakens  England,  but  he  ruins  Ireland.  This  line  of  conduct  may 
originate  in  his  bigotry,  and  probably  it  does,  but  vanity,  temper, 
and  the  rent,  are  nevertheless  to  be  found  at  the  bottom  of  thia 
boiling  cauldron  of  agitation. 

"Oh!  that  some  Father  Matthew  would  arise,  some  pious  priest, 
some  holy  bishop,  some  worthy  man  (for  they  have  many  excellent 
clergymen,  learned  prelates,  and  great  and  good  men  in  their  Church), 
and  staff  in  hand,  like  a  pilgrim  of  old,  preach  up  good  will  to  man, 
peace  on  earth,  and  Unity  of  Spirit.  Even  yet  the  struggle  might 
be  avoided,  if  the  good  would  act  wisely,  and  the  wise  act  firmly. 
Even  now  O'Connell,  if  he  would  adopt  this  course,  and  substitute 
conciliation  for  agitation  (for  hitherto  conciliation  has  been  all  on  the 
other  side),  would  soon  have  the  gratification  to  see  his  country  pros- 
perous and  happy.  While  those  who  now  admire  his  talents,  though 
they  deprecate  his  conduct,  would  gladly  unite  in  acknowledging  the 
merits,  and  heaping  honors  on  the  ^Pacificator  of  all  Ireland.'  No, 
my  friends,  so  far  from  desiring  to  see  the  Union  dissolved,  as  a 
philanthropist  and  a  Christian,  and  as  a  politician,  I  say,  *  Esto  Per- 
petua.' " 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

THE    HORSE    STEALER,    OR    ALL    TRADES     HAVE 
TRICKS    BUT    OUR    OWN. 

After  dinner  to-day  the  conversation  turned  upon  the  treaties 
existing  between  England  and  the  United  States,  and  I  expressed 
my  regret  that  in  all,  the  Americans  had  a  decided  advantage. 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  we  hante,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  The  truth  is,  w© 
do  understand  diplomacy,  that's  a  fact.  Treaties,  you  see,  are  bar- 
gains, and  a  feller  would  be  a  fool  to  make  a  bad  bargain,  and  if 


i^ 


268 


THK  ATTACH6;   OR, 


there  ain't  no  racl  chcatin'  in  it,  why  a  man  lias  a  right  to  make  as 
pood  a  one  as  he  can.  Wc  got  the  boat  of  tho  Boundary  Line,  that's 
a  fact,  hilt  then  Webster  ain't  a  critter  tluit  looks  as  if  the  yeast  was 
letl  out  of  him  by  mistake,  he  ain't  quite  as  soft  as  dough,  and  he 
ain't  onderbaked  nother.  Well,  the  tariff  is  a  good  job  for  us  too,  so 
is  the  fishery  story,  and  the  Oregon  will  be  all  right  in  the  eend  too. 
We  write  our  clauses,  so  they  bind  ;  your  diplomatists  write  them  so 
you  can  drive  a  stage-coach  and  six  through  'em,  and  not  touch  the 
hobs  on  cither  side.  Our  socdolagers  is  too  deep  for  any  on  'em. 
So  polite,  makes  such  soft-sawder  speeches,  or  talks  so  big ;  hints  at 
a  great  American  market,  advantages  of  peace,  difficulty  of  keepin' 
our  folks  from  goin*  to  war;  boast  of  our  old  home,  same  kindred 
and  language,  magnanimity  and  good  faith  of  England ;  calls  com- 
pensation for  losses  only  a  little  aflair  of  money,  knows  how  to  word 
a  sentence  so  it  will  read  like  a  riddle,  if  you  alter  a  stop,  grand 
hand  at  an  excuse,  gives  an  answer  that  means  nothing,  dodge  and 
come  up  t'other  side,  or  dive  so  deep  you  can't  follow  him.  Yes,  we 
have  the  best  of  the  treaty  business,  that's  a  fact.  Lord !  how  I 
have  often  laughed  at  that  story  of  Felix  Foyle  and  the  horse-stealer  1 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  contrivance  of  his  to  do  the  Governor  of 
Canada  ?" 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  never  heard  of  it."  He  then  related  the  story 
with  as  much  glee  as  if  the  moral  delinquency  of  the  act  was  excus- 
able in  a  ca'se  of  such  ingenuity. 

"  It  beats  all,"  he  said.  "  Felix  Foyle  lived  in  the  back  part  of 
the  State  of  New  York,  and  carried  on  a  smart  chance  of  business 
in  the  provision  line.  Beef,  and  pork,  and  flour  was  his  staples,  and 
he  did  a  great  stroke  in  'em.  Perhaps  he  did  to  the  tune  of  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year,  more  or  less.  Well,  in  course,  in 
such  a  trade  as  that,  he  had  to  employ  a  good  many  folks,  as  clei-ks, 
and  salters,  and  agents,  and  what  not,  and  among  them  was  his  book- 
keeper, Sossipater  Cuddy.  Sossipater  (or  Sassy,  as  folks  used  to 
call  him,  for  he  was  rather  high  in  the  instep,  and  was  Sassy  by 
name  and  Sassy  by  natur'  too,) — well,  Sassy  was  a  'cute  man,  a  good 
judge  of  cattle,  a  grand  hand  at  a  bargain,  and  a'most  an  excellent 
scholar  at  figures.  He  was  ginerally  allowed  to  be  a  first-rate  busi- 
ness man.  Only  to  give  you  an  idee,  now,  of  that  man's  smartness, 
how  ready  and  up  to  the  notch  he  was  at  all  times,  I  must  jist  stop 
fust,  and  tell  you  the  story  of  the  cigar. 

"In  some  of  our  towns  we  don't  allow  smokin'  in  the  streets, 
though  in  most  on  'em  we  do,  and  where  it  is  agin  law  it  is  two  dol- 
lars fine  in  a  gineral  way.  Well,  Sassy  went  down  to  Bosten  to  do 
a  little  chore  of  business  there,  where  this  law  was,  only  he  didn't 
know  it.  So,  as  soon  as  he  gets  off  the  coach,  he  outs  with  his  case, 
takes  a  cigar,  lights  it,  and  walks  on  smokin'  like  a  furnace  flue.  No 
fiooner  said  than  done.     Up  steps  constable,  and  sais>  '  I'll  trouble 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


269 


and 


you  for  two  dollars  for  smokin'  agin  law  in  the  streets.'  Sassy  was 
as  quick  as  wink  on  him.     '  Smokin'  I'  8ais  he,  '  I  warn't  u  smokinV 

*  Oh,  my !'  sais  constable,  '  how  you  talk,  man.  I  won't  say  you  lie, 
'cause  it  ain't  polite,  but  it's  very  like  the  way  I  talk  when  I  lie. 
Didn't  I  see  you  with  my  own  eyes  ?'  *  No,'  sais  Sassy,  '  you  didn't. 
It  don't  do  always  to  believe  your  own  eyes,  they  can't  be  depended 
on  more  nor  other  people's.  I  never  trust  mine,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
own  I  had  a  cigar  in  my  mouth,  but  it  was  because  I  like  the  flavor 
of  the  tobacco,  but  not  to  smoke.  I  take  it  it  don't  convene  with  the 
dignity  of  a  free  and  enlightened  citizen  of  our  almighty  nation  to 
break  the  law,  seein'  that  he  makes  the  law  himself,  and  is  his  own 
sovereign,  and  his  own  subject  too.  No,  I  warnt  smokin',  and  if  you 
don't  believe  me,  try  this  cigar  yourself,  and  see  if  it  ain't  so.  It 
hante  got  no  fire  in  it.'  Well,  constable  takes  the  cigar,  puts  it  into 
his  mug,  and  draws  away  at  it,  and  out  comes  the  smoke  like  any- 
thin'. 

'♦ '  I'll  trouble  you  for  two  dollars,  Mr.  High  Sheriff  devil,'  sais 
Sassy,  '  for  smokin'  in  the  streets ;  do  you  underconstand,  my  old 
'coon?'     Well,  constable  was  all  taken  aback,  he  was  finely  bit. 

*  Stranger,'  sais  he,  *  where  was  you  raised  ?'  '  To  Canady  line,'  sais 
Sassy.  *  Well,'  says  he, '  you're  a  credit  to  your  broghtens  up.  Well, 
let  the  fine  drop,  for  we  are  about  even  I  guess.  Let's  liquor ;'  and 
he  took  him  into  a  bar  and  treated  him  to  a  mint-julep.  It  was  gin- 
erally  considered  a  great  bite  that,  and  I  must  say  I  don't  think  it 
was  bad — do  you  ?  But  to  get  back  to  where  I  started  from.  Sassy, 
as  I  was  a-sayin',  was  the  book-keeper  of  old  Felix  Foyle.  The  old 
gentleman  sot  great  store  by  him,  and  couldn't  do  without  him,  on 
no  account,  he  was  so  ready  like,  and  always  on  hand.  But  Sassy 
thought  he  could  do  without  him,  tho'.  So,  one  fine  day,  he  absqoti* 
lated  with  four  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket,  of  Felix's,  and  cut  dirt 
for  Canady  as  hard  as  he  could  clip.  Felix  Foyle  was  actilly  in  a 
most  beautiful  frizzle  of  a  fix.  He  knew  who  he  had  to  deal  with, 
and  that  he  might  as  well  follow  a  fox  a'most  as  Sassy,  he  was  so 
everlastin'  cunnin',  and  that  the  British  wouldn't  give  up  a  debtor  to 
us,  but  only  felons ;  so  he  thought  the  fust  loss  was  the  best,  and 
was  about  givin'  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  when  an  idee  struck  him,  and 
off  he  started  in  chase  with  all  steam  on.  Felix  was  the  clear  grit 
when  his  dander  was  up,  and  he  never  slept  night  or  day  till  he 
reached  Canady,  too ;  got  on  the  trail  of  Sassy,  and  came  up  to 
where  he  was  airthed  at  Niagara.  When  he  arrived  it  was  about 
noon,  so  as  he  enters  the  tavern  he  sees  Sassy  standin'  with  his  face 
to  the  fire  and  his  back  to  the  door,  and  what  does  he  do  but  slip 
into  the  meal-room  and  hide  himself  till  night.  Jist  as  it  was  dark 
in  comes  old  Bambrick,  the  inn-keeper,  with  a  light  in  his  hand,  and 
Felix  slips  behind  him,  and  shuts  too  the  door,  and  tells  him  the 
whole  story  from  beginnin'  to  eend;  how  Sassy  had  sarved  him; 


270 


THE  ATTACHE;  OB, 


and  lists  the  old  fellow  in  his  sarvice,  and  off  they  set  to  a  magistrate 
and  get  out  a  warrant,  and  then  they  goes  to  the  deputy-sheriff  and 
gets  Sassy  arrested.     Sassy  was  so  taken  aback  he  was  hardly  able 
to  speak  for  the  matter  of  a  minit  or  so,  for  he  never  expected  Felix 
would  follov/  him  into  Canady  at  all,  seein'  that  if  he  oncet  reached 
British  side  he  was  safe.     But  he  soon  come  too  agin,  so  he  ups  and 
bullies.    *  Pray,  Sir,'  sais  he,  *  what  do  you  mean  by  this  ?'    '  Nothin' 
above  partikelar,'  says  Felix,  quite  cool, '  only  I  guess  I  want  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  back,  that's  all,'  and  then  tumin'  to  the 
onder  sheriff,  *  Squire,'  sais  he, '  will  you  take  a  turn  or  two  in  the 
entry,  while  Sassy  and  I  settle  a  little  matter  of  business  together,' 
and  out  goes  Nab.    *  Mr.  Foyle,'  sa;3  Sassy, '  I  have  no  business  to 
settle  with  you — arrest  me,  Sir,  a*  your  peril,  and  I'll  action  you  in 
law  for  false  imprisonment.'     'Where's  my  money?' sais  Felix— 
'  Where's  my  four  thousand  dollars  ?'     '  What  do  I  know  about  your 
money  ?'  sais  Sassy.    *  Well,'  sais  Felix,  '  it  is  your  business  to  know, 
and  I  paid  you  as  my  book-keeper  to  know,  and  if  you  don't  know 
you  must  jist  return  with  me  and  find  out,  that's  all — so  ^  nme,  let's 
be  a-movin'.     Well,  Sassy  larfed  right  out  in  his  face ;  '  why  you 
cussed  fool,'  sais  he,  '  don't  you  know  I  can't  be  taken  out  o'  this  col- 
ony State,  but  oiily  for  crime,  what  a  rael  soft  horn  you  be  to  have 
done  so  much  business  and  not  know  that  ?'     *  I  guess  I  got  a  war- 
rant that  will  take  you  out  tho','  sais  Felix — '  read  that,'  a-handin* 
of  the  paper  to  him.     *  Now  I  shall  swear  to  that  agin,  and  send  it 
to  Governor,  and  down  will  come  the  marchin'  order  in  quick  stick. 
Fm  soft,  I  know,  but  I  ain't  sticky  for  all  that,  I  ginerally  come  off 
clear  without  Jeavin'  no  part  behind.'     The  moment  Sassy  read  the 
warrant  his  face  fell,  and  the  cold  perspiration  rose  out  like  rain- 
drops, and  his  color  went  and  came,  and  his  knees  shook  like  any- 
thin'.     '  Hoss-stealin' !'  sais  he,  aloud  to  himself — '  hoss-stealin' ! — 
Heavens  and  airth,  what  parjury ! !    Why,  l  elix,'  sais  he, '  you  know 
devilish  well  I  never  stole  your  boss,  man ;  how  could  you  go  and 
swear  to  such  an  infarnal  lie  as  that  ?'     '  Why  I'm  nothin'  but  "  a 
cussed  fool"  and  a  "  rael  soft  horri,"  you  know,'  sais  Felix, '  as  you 
said  jist  now,  and  if  I  had  gone  and  sworn  to  the  debt,  why  you'd  a 
kept  the  money,  gone  to  jail,  and  swore  out,  and  I'd  a-had  my  trou- 
ble for  my  pains.     So  you  see  I  swore  you  stole  my  hoss,  for  that's 
a  crime,  tho'  absquotolation  ain't,  and  that  will  force  the  British 
Governor  to  deliver  you  up,  and  when  I  get  you  into  New  York 
state,  why  you  settle  with  me  for  my  four  thousand  dollars,  and  I 
will  settle  with  you  for  stealin'  my  hoss,'  and  he  put  his  linger  to  the 
tip  eend  of  his  nose,  and  winked  and  said,  *  Young  folks  think  old 
folks  is  fools,  but  old  folks  know  young  folks  is  fools.     I  warn't  born 
yesterday,  and  I  had  my  eye-teeth  sharpened  before  your'n  were 
through  the  gums,  I  guess — ^}'ou  hante  got  the  Boston  constable  to 
deal  with  now,  I  can  tell  you,  but  old  Felix  Foyle  himself,  and  be 


i^plf'ff--""^'  ™ 


I .•  JJ Ul)|fVJ>iil .1l■lW^iWi^VP-!llRMfl«f  .fWL^Rlipvii  J i  fijp  . 


SAM   SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


271 


a 


ain't  so  blind  but  what  he  can  feel  his  way  along  I  guess — do  you 
take  my  meanin',  my  young  'coon  ?'  *  I'm  sold,'  sais  Sassy,  and  he 
sot  down,  put  both  elbows  on  the  table,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  and  fairly  cried  like  a  child.  '  I'm  sold,'  sais  he.  '  Buy  your 
pardon,  then,'  sais  Felix,  *  pay  down  the  four  thousand  dollars,  and 
you  are  a  free  and  enlightened  citizen  once  more.'  Sassy  got  up, 
unlocked  his  portmanter,  and  counted  it  out  all  in  paper  rolls  jist  as 
he  received  it.  '  There  it  is,'  sais  he, '  and  I  must  say  you  desarve 
it;  that  was  a  great  stroke  of  your'n.'  '  Stop  a  bit,'  says  Felix,  seein' 
more  money  there,  all  his  savin's  for  years, '  we  ain't  done  yet,  I 
must  have  five  hundred  dollars  for  expenses,'  '  There,  d — n  you,* 
sais  Sassy,  throwin'  another  roll  at  him,  *  there  it  is ;  are  you  done 
yet?'  *No,'  sais  Felix,  *not  yet;  now  you  have  done  me  justice,  I 
must  do  you  the  same,  and  clear  your  cijaracter.  Call  in  that  gen- 
tleman, the  constable,  from  the  entry,  and  I  will  go  a  treat  of  half  a 
pint  of  brandy. — Mr.  Officer,'  sais  Felix — '  here  is  some  mistake,  tliis 
gentleman  has  convinced  me  he  was  only  follerin',  as  my  clerk,  a 
debtor  of  mine  here,  and  when  he  transacts  his  business,  will  return, 
havin'  left  his  boss  at  the  lines,  where  I  can  get  him  if  I  choose ; 
and  I  must  say  I  am  glad  on't  for  the  credit  of  the  nation  abroad. 
Fill  your  glass,  here's  a  five  dollar  bill  for  your  fees,  and  here's  to 
your  good  health.  If  you  want  provision  to  ship  off  in  the  way  of 
trade,  I'm  Felix  Foyle,  and  shall  be  happy  to  accommodate  you.' 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  that  is  what  I  call  a  rael  clever  trick,  a 
great  card  that,  warn't  it  .'*  He  desarves  credit,  does  Felix,  it  ain't 
every  one  would  a-been  up  to  trap  that  way,  is  it  ?" 

"  Sam,"  said  his  father,  rising  with  great  dignity  and  formality  of 
manner,  *'  was  that  man,  Felix  Foyle,  ever  a  militory  man .'"' 

"  No,  Sir ;  he  never  had  a  commission,  even  in  the  militia,  as  I 
knows  on." 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  no  man,  that  had  seen  mili- 
ary life,  could  ever  tell  a  lie,  much  less  take  a  false  oath.  That  fel- 
ler, Sir,  is  a  villain,  and  I  wish  Washington  and  I  had  him  to  the 
halberts ;  by  the  'tarnal,  we'd  teach  him  to  disgrace  our  great  name 
before  those  benighted  colonists.  A  liar,  Sir!  as  Doctor  Franklin 
said,  the  great  Doctor  Franklin,  him  that  burnt  up  two  forts  of  tlie 
British  in  the  revolution  xvar,  by  bringin'  d<nvn  lightniu'  on  'em  from 
Heaven  by  a  wire  string), — a  liar,  Sir !  Show  me  a  liar,  and  I'll 
show  you  a  thief." 

"  What  was  he  ?"  said  Mr.  Hopewell. 

"  A  marchant  in  the  provision  line,"  said  the  Attache. 

"No,  no;  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  replied.  "What  sect  did  he 
belong  to  ?" 

^'  Oh !  now  I  onderstand.  Oh !  a  wet  Quaker  to  be  sure,  they 
are  the  'cutest  people  its  ginerally  allowed  we  have  in  all  our  nation." 

"  Ah  I"  said  the  JVIiuister,  "  7  was  certain  he  was  not  brought  up 


^wiKc  vvirvm^miirM 


-n^ 


I 


272 


THE  ATTACHE  ;   OB, 


in  the  Church.  We  teach  morals  as  well  as  doctrines,  and  endeavor 
to  make  our  people  exhibit  the  soundness  of  the  one  by  the  purity 
of  the  other.  I  felt  assured,  either  that  he  could  not  be  a  church- 
man, or  that  his  parish  minister  must  have  grossly  and  wickedly  ne- 
glected his  duty  in  not  inculcating  better  principles." 

" Yen"  said  Mr.  Slick,  with  a  very  significant  laugh,  " and  he 
warn't  a  clockmaJcer,  nother." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  his  father,  gravely,  "  I  hope  not,  Sam.  Some 
on  em,"  (looking  steadily  at  his  son),  "  some  on  'em  are  so  iley  and 
slippery,  they  do  squeeze  between  a  truth  and  a  lie  so,  you  wonder 
how  it  was  ever  possible  for  mortal  man  to  go  thro',  but  for  the  honof 
of  the  clockmakers,  I  hope  he  warn't  one." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  he  warn't,  I  assure  you.  But  you, 
Father,  and  Minister,  and  me,  are  all  pretty  much  tarred  with 
the  same  stick,  I  guess — we  all  think,  ^^all  trades  have  tricki  hui 
our  own'* 


CHAPTER    XLXVIII. 

THE    PLEASURES   OF   HOPE. 

To-day  we  witnessed  the  interment  of  Thonms  Campbell,  the 
author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  in  the  Poet's  Corner  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  Owing  to  some  mismanagement  in  the  arrange- 
ments, a  great  part  of  the  friends  of  the  deceased  did  not  arrive  until 
the  service  was  nearly  half  over,  which  enabled  us,  who  were  very 
early  in  the  Abbey,  to  obtain  a  good  position  within  the  barriers. 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Lord  Brougham,  and  a  great 
number  of  noblemen  and  statesmen,  were  present,  to  do  honor  to  his 
remains,  while  the  service  was  read  by  Mr.  Milman — himself  a  dis- 
tinguished poet.  For  a  long  time  after  the  ceremony  was  over,  and 
the  crowd  had  dispersed,  we  remained  in  the  Abbey,  examining  the 
monuments,  and  discop'-^ing  of  the  merits  or  the  fortunes  of  those 
whose  achievements  had  entitled  them  to  the  honor  of  being  laid 
with  the  great  and  the  good  of  past  ages,  in  this  national  temple 
of  Fame.  Our  attention  was  soon  arrested  by  an  exclamation  of 
Mr.  Slick. 

"  Hullo !"  said  he,  "  how  the  plague  did  this  feller  get  here  ? 
Why,  Squire,  as  Pme  a  livin'  sinner,  here's  a  colonist !  What  crime 
did  he  commit  that  they  took  so  much  notice  of  him  ?  '  Sacred  to 
the  memory  of  William  Wragg,  £sq.,  of  South  Carolina,  who,  when 
the  American  colonies  revolted  from  Great  Britain,  inflexibly  main- 
tained his  loyalty  to  the  person  and  government  of  his  Sovereign, 


SAM  8LICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


273 


;  you, 

with 

hs  bfuA 


and  was  therefore  compelled  to  leave  his  distressed  family  and  ample 
fortune.'  Oh  Lord!  I  thought  it  must  have  been  some  time  before 
the  flood,  for  loyalty  in  the  colonies  is  at  a  discount  now ;  it's  a  bad 
road  to  preferment,  I  can  tell  you.  Agitation,  buUyin'  governors, 
shootin'  down  sogers,  and  rebellin'  is  the  passport  now-a-d^ys.  Them 
were  the  boys  Durham  and  Thompson  honored ; — all  the  loyal  old 
cocks,  all  them  that  turned  out  and  fought  and  saved  the  country, 
I  "t  a  cold  shoulder  for  their  officiousness.  But  they  are  curious 
^icople  is  the  English  ;  they  are  like  the  Deacon  Flint — he  never 
could  see  the  pint  of  a  good  thing  till  it  was  too  late.  Sometimes 
arter  dinner  he'd  bust  out  a  larfin'  like  anything,  for  all  the  world 
as  if  'i  VIS  a  born  fool,  seemin'ly  nt  nothin',  and  I'd  say,  *  Whyj, 
Dea(  'U,  V  hat  maggot's  bit  you  now  ?'  '  I  was  larfin"  he'd  say,  '  at 
that  joke  of  your'n  this  mornin' ;  I  didn't  take  jist  then,  but  I  see  it 
now.'  *  Me !'  sais  I, '  why  irhat  did  I  say,  it's  so  long  ago  I  forget  I' 
*  Why,'  sais  he,  '  don't  you  mind  we  was  a  talkin'  of  them  two  pi- 
rait s  i'le  jury  found  not  guilty,  and  the  court  turned  loose  on  the 
tc'Hn  ;  you  said  it  was  all  right,  for  they  was  loose  characters.  Oh  ! 
I  see  it  now,  it  was  rael  jam  that.'  '  Oh  !'  s  js  I,  not  overly  pleased 
nother,  for  a  joke,  like  an  egg,  is  never  no  g>od  'xcept  it's  fresh  laid 
— is  it  ? 

"  Well,  the  English  are  like  the  old  Deacon ;  they  don't  see  a 
man's  merits  till  he's  dead,  and  then  they  wake  up  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  say,  '  Oh  !  we  must  honor  this  feller's  skeleton,'  and  Peel,  and 
Brougham,  and  all  the  dons,  go  and  play  pall-bearers  to  it,  stand 
over  his  grave,  look  sentimental,  and  attitudenize  a  few ;  and  when 
I  say  to  'em  you  hadn't  ought  to  have  laid  him  right  a  top  of  old  Dr. 
Johnson — for  he  hated  Scotchmen  so  like  old  Scratch ;  if  he  was  to 
find  it  out  he'd  kick  strait  up  on  eend,  and  throw  him  off;  they 
won't  larf,  but  give  me  a  look  as  much  as  to  say,  Westminster  Ab- 
bey ain't  no  place  to  joke  in.  Jist  as  if  it  warn't  a  most  beautiful 
joke  to  see  these  men,  who  could  have  done  ever  so  much  for  the 
poet  in  his  lifetime,  when  it  could  have  done  him  good — but  who 
never  even  so  much  as  held  out  a  finger  to  him,  except  in  a  little 
matter  not  worth  havin' — now  he  is  dead,  start  up  all  at  once  and 
patronize  his  body  and  bones  when  it  can't  do  him  one  mossel  of 
good.  Oh !  they  are  like  Deacon  Flint — they  understand  when  it's 
too  late. 

"  Poor  old  Tom  Campbell,  there  was  some  pleasures  of  hope  that 
he  never  sot  down  in  his  book,  I  know.  He  hoped — as  he  had 
charmed  and  delighted  the  nation,  and  given  'em  another  ondyin' 
name,  to  add  to  their  list  of  poets,  to  crack  and  to  brag  of — he'd  a 
had  a  recompense  at  least  in  some  government  appointment  that 
would  have  cheered  and  soothed  his  old  age,  and  he  was  disappinted, 
that's  all ;  and  that's  the  pleasures  of  hope,  Squire,  eh  ?  He  hoped 
that  fame,  which  he  had  in  his  life,  would  have  done  him  some  good 

12* 


■Tf'r-^-jr-' 


t  'I 


274 


THE   ATTACHfi;  OR, 


in  his  life— didn't  he  ?  Well,  he  lived  on  that  hope  till  he  died,  and 
that  didn't  disappint  him;  for  how  can  a  feller  say  he  is  dis- 
appinted  by  a  thing  he  has  lived  on  all  his  days  ?  and  that's  the 
Pleasures  of  Hope. 

"  He  hoped,  in  course.  Peel  would  be  a  patron  of  poets — and  so 
he  is,  he  acts  as  a  pall-bearer,  'cause  as  soon  as  the  pall  is  over  him, 
he'd  never  bother  him  nor  any  other  minister  no  more.  Oh !  '  Hope 
told  a  flatterin'  tale  ;'  but  all  flatterers  are  liars.  Peel  has  a  princely 
fortune,  and  a  princely  patronage,  and  is  a  prince  of  a  feller ;  but 
there  is  an  old  sayin'  *  Put  not  your  trust  in  Princes.'  If  poor  Tom 
was  alive  and  kickin'  I'd  tell  him  who  to  put  his  trust  in — and  that's 
Bentley.  He  is  the  only  patron  worth  havin',  that's  a  fact.  He 
does  it  so  like  a  gentleman :  '  I  have  read  the  poem,  Mr.  Campbell, 
you  were  so  kind  as  to  indulge  me  with  the  perusal  of;  if  you  would 
permit  me  to  favor  the  world  with  a  sight  of  it,  I  shall  have  great 
pleasure  in  placin'  a  cheque  for  two  thousand  guineas  in  your  bank- 
er's hands.' 

"  Oh !  that's  the  patron.  The  great  have  nothin'  but  smiles  and 
bows,  Bentley  has  nothing  but  the  pewter — and  that's  what  I  like  to 
drink  my  beer  out  of.  Secretaries  of  State  are  cattle  it's  pretty 
hard  to  catch  in  a  field,  and  put  a  bridle  on,  I  can  tell  you.  No, 
they  have  nothin'  but  smiles,  and  it  requires  to  onderstand  the  lan- 
guage of  smiles,  for  there  are  all  sorts  of  them,  and  they  all  spe.ik  a 
different  tongue. 

"  I  have  seen  five  or  six  of  them  secretaries,  and  Spring  Rice,  to 
my  mind,  was  the  toploftiest  boy  of  em  all.  Oh !  he  was  the  boy  to 
smile ;  he  could  put  his  whole  team  on  sometimes  if  he  liked,  and  run 
you  right  off  the  road.  Whenever  he  smiled  very  gracious,  followed 
you  to  the  door,  and  shook  you  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  said,— call 
again,  your  flint  was  fixed :  you  never  seed  him  no  more.  Kind- 
hearted  crittur,  he  wanted  to  spare  you  the  pain  of  a  refusal,  and 
bein'  a  little  coquettish,  he  puts  his  prettiest  smile  on,  as  you  was 
never  to  meet  again,  to  leave  a  favorite  impression  behind  him ;  they 
all  say — call  agin :  Bentley,  never !  No  pleasures  of  hope  with  him  / 
he  is  a  patron,  he  don't  wait  for  the  pall. 

"  Peel,  sportsman-like,  is  in  at  the  death ;  Bentley  comes  with  the 
nurse,  and  is  in  at  the  birth.  There  is  some  use  in  such  a  patron  as 
that.  Ah !  poor  Campbell !  he  was  a  poet,  a  good  poet,  a  beautiful 
poet !  He  knowed  all  about  the  world  of  imagination,  and  the  realms 
of  fancy  ;  but  he  didn't  know  nothin'  at  all  about  this  world  of  our'n, 
or  the  realm  of  England,  or  he  never  would  have  talked  of  the 
*  Pleasures  of  Hope'  :or  an  author.  Lord  bless  you !  let  a  dancin' 
gall  come  to  the  opera,  jump  six  foot  high,  light  on  one  toe,  hold  up 
the  other  so  high  you  can  see  her  stays  a'most,  and  then  spin  round 
like  a  daddy-long-legs  that's  got  one  foot  caught  in  a  taller  candle, 
and  go  spinuin'  round  arter  that  fashion  for  ten  minits,  it  will  touch 


■ 


-n,>n«p,q»lB_4M 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


275 


Peel's  heart  in  a  giffy.  This  spinnin'  jinny  will  be  honored  by  the 
highest  folks  in  the  land,  have  diamond  rings,  goold  snuff-boxes  and 
pusses  of  money  given  her,  and  gracious  knows  what. 

"  Let  Gineral  Tom  Thumb  come  to  London,  that's  two  foot  nothin 
and  the  Kentucky  boy  that's  eight  foot  somethin',  and  see  how  they 
will  be  patronised,  and  what  a  sight  of  honor  they  will  have.  Let 
Van  Amburg  come  with  his  lion,  make  him  open  his  jaws,  and  then 
put  his  head  down  his  throat,  and  pull  it  out,  and  say,  'What  a 
brave  boy  am  I !'  and  kings  and  queens,  and  princes  and  nobles 
will  come  and  see  him,  and  see  his  lion  feed,  too.  Did  any  on  'em 
ever  come  to  see  Campbell  feed  ?  he  was  a  great  lion  this  many  a 
long  day.  Oh  dear!  he  didn't  know  nothin',  that's  a  fact;  he 
thought  himself  a  cut  above  them  folks :  it  jist  showed  how  much  he 
know'd.     Fine  sentiments  !     Lord,  who  cares  for  them  ! 

"  Do  you  go  to  Nova  Scotia  now,  and  begin  at  Cape  Sable,  and 
travel  all  down  to  Cape  Canso, — the  whole  length  of  the  province, 
pick  out  the  two  best  lines  from  his  '  Hope,'  and  ask  every  feller  you 
meet,  *di<i  you  ever  hear  these  ?'  and  how  many  will  you  find  that 
has  seen  'em,  or  heerd  tell  of  'em  ?  Why  a  few  galls  that's  senti- 
mental, and  a  few  boys  that's  a-courtin',  spooney-like,  that's  all. 

"  But  ax  'em  this,  *  Master,  if  that  house  cost  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  a  barrel  of  nails  five  dollars,  what  would  a  good  sizeable  pig 
come  to  ? — do  you  give  it  up  ?'  Well,  he'd  come  to  a  bushel  of  corn. 
Every  man,  woman,  and  child  would  tell  you  they  heerd  the  clown 
say  that  to  the  circus,  and  that  they  mind  they  larfed  ready  to  kill 
themselves.  Grinnin'  pays  better  nor  rhymin',  and  ticklin'  the  ribs 
with  fingers  pleases  folks  more,  and  makes  'em  larf  more,  than  tick- 
lin their  ears  with  varses — that's  a  fact. 

"  I  guess,  when  Campbell  writ '  The  Mariners  of  England,' — that 
will  live  till  the  Britisher's  sailors  get  whipped  by  us  so  they  will  be 
ashamed  to  sing  it — he  thought  himself  great  shakes  ;  heavens  and 
airth !  he  warn't  half  so  big  as  Tom  Thumb — he  was  jist  nothin'. 
But  let  some  foreign  hussey,  whose  skin  ain't  clear  and  whose  char- 
acter ain't  clear,  and  whose  debts  ain't  clear,  and  who  hante  nothin' 
clear  about  her  but  her  voice,  let  her  come  and  sing  that  splendid 
song  that  puts  more  ginper  into  sailors  than  grog  or  prize-money,  or 
anythin',  and  Lord  !  all  the  old  admirals,  and  flag-officers,  and  yacht- 
men,  and  others  that  do  onderstand,  and  all  the  lords,  and  ladies,  and 
princes,  that  don't  onderstand  where  the  springs  are  in  that  song, 
that  touch  the  chords  of  the  heart- — all  on  'em  will  come  and  worship 
a'most ;  and  some  young  Duke  or  another  Avill  fancy  he  is  a  young 
Jupiter,  and  come  down  in  a  shower  of  gold  a'most  for  her,  while  the 
poet  has  '  The  Pleasures  of  Hope'  to  feed  on.  Oh !  I  envy  him, 
glorious  man,  I  envy  him  his  great  reward;  it  was  worth  seventy 
years  of  '  hope,'  was  that  funeral. 
\    "  He  was  well  repaid — Peel  held  a  string  of  tlie  pall.  Brougham 


niMw*>-fwmmmr  vtwfnjf^j^m^mm 


276 


THE  attachb;  or, 


came  and  said, '  How  damn  cold  the  Abbey  is!*  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
Scotchman-like,  rubbed  his  back  agin  Roubilliac's  statue  of  his  great 
ancestor,  and  thought  it  was  a  pity  he  hadn't  migrated  to  Princfe 
Edward's  Island ;  D'Israeli  said  he  was  one  of  the  '  Curiosities  of 
Literature ;'  while  Macaulay,  who  looks  for  smart  things,  said,  *  Poor 
fellow,  this  was  always  the  object  of  his  ambition;  it  was  bis  '^hope 
beyond  the  grave.' " 

"  Silence,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  with  more  asperity  of  manner 
than  I  ever  observed  in  him  before ;  *' silence,  Sir.  If  you  will  not 
respect  yourself,  respect,  at  least,  the  solemnity  of  the  place  in  which 
you  stand.  I  never  heard  such  unworthy  sentiments  before ;  though 
they  are  just  what  might  be  expected  from  a  pedlar  of  clocks.  You 
have  no  ideas  beyond  those  of  dollars  and  cents,  and  you  value  fam« 
as  you  would  a  horse,  by  what  it  will  fetch  in  ready  money.  Your 
observations  on  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  who  have  done  them- 
selves  honor  this  day,  as  well  as  the  poet,  by  taking  a  part  in  thi» 
sad  ceremony,  are  both  indecent  and  unjust ;  while  your  last  remark 
is  absolutely  profane.  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  Sir,  that  he 
had  '  a  hope  beyond  the  grave.'  All  his  writings  bear  the  stamp  of 
a  mind  strongly  imbued  with  the  pure  spirit  of  religion :  be  must 
himself  have  felt '  the  hope  beywid  the  grave '  to  have  described  it  as 
he  has  done ;  it  is  a  passage  of  great  beauty  and  sublimity. 


"  '  Eternal  hope !  when  yonder  spheres  suUime 
Pealed  their  first  note»  to  sound  the  march  of  Time, 
Thy  joyous  youth  begsm — but  not  to  fade, — 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decay'd  ; 
When  wrapt  in  fire  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 
And  Heaven's  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below ; 
Thou,  undismay'd,  shalt  o'er  the  ruins  smile. 
And  light  thy  torch  at  Nature's  funeral  pile.' 

"  We  have  both  done  wrong  to-day,  my  swi ;  you  have  talked 
flippantly  and  irreverently,  and  I  have  suffered  my  temper  to  be 
agitated  in  a  very  unbecoming  manner,  and  that,  too,  in  consecrated 
ground,  and  in  the  house  of  the  Lord.  I  am  not  disposed  to  remain 
here  just  now — ^let  us  depart  in  peace— give  me  your  arm,  my  son, 
and  we  will  discourse  of  other  things." 

When  we  returned  to  our  lodgings,  Mr.  Slick,  who  felt  hurt  at 
the  sharp  rebuke  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Hopewell,  recurred 
.again  to  the  subject. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  old  man's  crotchets  to-day,  Squire,"  he  said; 
"  he  never  would  have  slipt  off  the  handle  that  way,  if  that  speech 
of  Macau  lay's  hadn't  a-scared  him  like,  for  he  is  as  skittish  as  a 
two-year-old,  at  the  least  sound  of  such  a  thing.  Why,  I  have  heerd 
him  say  himself,  the  lot  of  a  poet  was  a  hard  one,  over  and  over 
again ;  and  that  the  world  let  them  fust  starve  to  death,  and  then 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


277 


built  monuments  to  'em  that  cost  more  money  than  \rould  have 
made  'em  comfortable  all  their  born  days.  Many  and  many  a  time, 
when  he  used  to  make  me  say  over  to  him  as  a  boy '  Gray's  Elegy,* 
he'd  say,  '  Ah  !  poor  man,  he  was  neglected  till  attention  came  too 
late. — When  he  was  old  and  infarm,  and  it  could  do  him  no  good, 
they  made  him  a  professor  in  some  college  or  another ;'  and,  then 
he'd  go  over  a  whole  string — Mason,  Mickle,  Bums,  and  I  don't 
know  who  all,  for  I  ain't  much  of  a  bookster,  and  don't  recollect ; — 
and  how  often  I've  heerd  him  praise  our  Government  for  makin' 
Washington  Irvin'  an  embassador,  and  say  what  an  example  we  sot 
to  England,  by  such  a  noble  spontaneous  act  as  that,  in  honorin' 
letters.  I  f«el  kinder  hurt  at  the  way  he  took  me  up,  but  I'll  swear 
I'm  right  arter  all.  In  matters  and  things  of  this  world,  I  won't 
give  up  my  opinion  to  him  nor  nobody  else.  Let  some  old  gineral 
or  admiral  do  something  or  another  that  only  requires  the  courage 
of  a  bull,  and  no  sense,  and  they  give  him  a  pension,  and  right  off 
the  reel  make  him  a  peer.  Let  some  old  field-ofllcer's  wife  go 
follerin'  the  army  away  back  in  Indgy  further  than  is  safe  or  right 
for  a  woman  to  go, — git  taken  pris'ner,  give  a  horrid  sight  of  trouble 
to  the  army  to  git  her  back,  and  for  this  great  service  to  the  nation, 
she  gits  a  pension  of  five  hundred  pounds  a-year.  But  let  some 
misfortunate  devil  of  an  author  do — what  only  one  man  in  a  century 
can,  to  save  his  soul  alive,  write  a  book  that  will  live — a  thing  that 
does  show  the  perfection  of  human  mind,  and  what  do  they  do  here? 
— let  his  body  live  on  the  '  Pleasures  of  Hope '  all  the  days  of  his 
life,  and  his  name  live  afterwards  on  a  cold  white  marble  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  They  be  hanged — the  whole  bilin'  of  them — them 
and  their  trumpery  procession,  too,  and  their  paltry  patronage  of 
standin'  by  a  grave,  and  sayin', '  Poor  Campbell !' 

"  Who  the  devil  cares  for  a  monument,  that  actiUy  desarves  one  ? 
He  has  built  one  that  will  live  when  that  are  old  Abbey  crumbles 
down,  and  when  all  them  that  thought  they  was  honorin'  him  are 
dead  and  forgotten ;  his  monument  was  built  by  his  own  brains,  and 
his  own  hands,  and  the  inscription  ain't  writ  in  Latin  nor  Greek, 
nor  any  other  dead  language,  nother,  but  in  a  livin'  language,  and 
one,  too,  that  will  never  die  out  now,  seein'  our  great  nation  uses  it 
-—and  here  it  is — 


♦•  •  The  Pleasures  6f  Hope,  by  Thomas  CninpbeU.'  ** 


f,     A 


278 


THE  ATTACH^;  OB, 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

DON'T   I  LOOK  PALE?  OR,  THE   IRON   GOD. 

Mr.  Slick  having  sis  usual,  this  morning,  boasted  of  the  high 
society  he  mingled  with  the  preceding  evening,  and  talked  with 
most  absurd  familiarity  of  several  distinguished  persons,  very  much 
to  the  delight  of  his  father,  and  the  annoyance  of  Mr.  Hopewell,  the 
latter,  at  last,  interrupted  him  with  some  very  juaicicus  advice.  He 
told  him  he  had  observed  the  change  that  had  come  over  him  lately 
with  very  great  regret ;  that  he  was  altogether  in  a  false  position 
and  acting  an  unnatural  and  absurd  part. 

"  As  a  Republican,"  he  said, "  it  is  expected  that  you  should  have 
the  simplicity  and  frankness  of  manner  becoming  one,  and  that  your 
dress  should  not  be  that  of  a  courtier,  but  in  keepmg  with  your  cha- 
racter. It  is  well  known  here  that  you  were  not  educated  at  one  of 
our  universities,  or  trained  to  official  life,  and  that  you  have  risen  to 
it  like  many  others  of  our  countrymen,  by  strong  natural  talent.  To 
assume,  therefore,  the  air  and  dress  of  a  man  of  fashion,  is  quite 
absurd,  and  if  persisted  in,  will  render  you  perfectly  ridiculous.  Any 
little  errors  you  may  make  in  the  modes  of  life  will  always  be 
passed  over  in  silence,  so  long  as  you  are  natural ;  but  the  moment 
they  are  accompanied  by  affectation,  they  become  targets  for  the 
shafts  of  satire. 

"  A  little  artificial  manner  may  be  tolerated  in  a  very  pretty  wo- 
man, because  great  allowance  is  to  be  made  for  female  vanity;  but 
in  a  man,  it  is  altogether  insufferable.  Let  your  conversation,  there- 
fore, be  natural,  and  as  to  the  fashion  of  your  dress,  take  the  good 
old  rule — 

"  '  Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  is  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside.' 

In  short,  be  Sam  Slick." 

"  Don't  be  afeerd,  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  have  too  much 
tact  for  that.  I  shall  keep  the  channel,  and  avoid  the  bars  and 
shallows,  I  know.  I  never  boast  at  all.  Brag  is  a  good  dog,  but 
hold-fast  is  a  better  one.  I  never  talk  of  society  I  never  was  in, 
nor  never  saw  but  once,  and  that  by  accident.  I  have  too  much 
sense  for  that ;  but  I  am  actilly  in  the  first  circles  here,  quite  at 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


279 


home  in  'em,  and  in  speaking  of  'em.  I  am  only  talkin'  of  folks  I 
meet  every  day,  see  every  day,  and  jaw  with  every  day.  I  am  part 
and  passel  of  'em.  Now  risin'  sudden  here  ain't  a  bit  stranger  than 
men  risin'  with  us.  It's  done  every  day,  for  the  door  is  wide  open 
here;  the  English  ain't  doomed  to  stand  still  and  vegitate  like 
cabbages,  I  can  tell  you ;  it's  only  colonists  like  Squire  there,  that 
are  forced  to  do  that.  Why,  they'll  tell  you  of  a  noble  whose  grand- 
father was  this,  and  another  whose  grandfather  was  that  small  beer; 
of  one  who  was  sir^d  by  a  man  that  was  born  in  our  old  Boston, 
and  another  whose  great-grandfather  was  a  farmer  on  Kenebec  river, 
and  if  the  family  had  remained  colonist  would  have  been  snakin' 
logs  with  an  ox-team  to  the  Bangor  mills,  instead  of  being  a  minis- 
ter for  all  the  colonies,  as  he  was  not  long  ago.  No,  catch  me  a 
crackin'  and  a  braggin'  for  nothin',  and  then  tell  me  of  it.  I'm  not 
a-goin'  to  ask  every  feller  I  meet,  '  Don't  I  look  pale  ?'  like  Soloman 
Figg,  the  tailor  to  St.  John,  New  Brunswick — him  they  called  the 

*  Iron  God.' " 

"  Oh,  oh,  Sam !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  lifting  up  both  hands,  "  that 
was  very  profane ;  don't  tell  the  story  if  there's  any  irreverence  in 
it,  any  flippancy,  anything,  in  short,  at  all  unbecoming.  That  is  not 
a  word  to  be  used  in  vain." 

"  Oh,  never  fear.  Minister,  there  is  nothin'  in  the  story  to  shock 
you ;  if  there  was,  I'm  not  the  boy  to  tell  it  to  any  one,  much  less  to 
you.  Sir." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  tell  the  story  then  if  it's  harmless,  but 
leave  that  word  out  when  you  can,  that's  a  good  soul !" 

"  Soloman  Figg  was  the  crittur  that  give  rise  to  that  sayin'  all 
over  New  Brunswick  and  Nova  Scotia, '  Don't  I  look  pale  ?'  and  I 
calculate  it  never  will  die  there.  Whenever  they  see  an  important 
feller  a-struttin'  of  it  by,  in  tip-top  dress,  tryin'  to  do  a  bit  of  fine,  or 
hear  a  crittur  a-braggin'  of  great  men's  acquaintance,  they  jist  puts 
their  finger  to  their  nose,  gives  a  wink  to  one  another,  and  say, 

*  Don't  I  look  pale  ?'     Oh,  it's  grand !     But  I  believe  I'll  begin  at 
the  beginnin',  and  jist  tell  you  both  stories  about  Soloman  Figg. 

"  Solomon  was  a  tailor,  whose  tongue  ran  as  fast  as  his  needle, 
and  for  sewin'  and  talkin'  perhaps  there  warn't  his  equal  to  be  found 
nowhere.  His  shop  was  a  great  rondivoo  for  folks  to  talk  politics  in, 
and  Soloman  was  an  out-and-out  Radical.  They  are  ungrateful 
skunks  are  English  Radicals,  and  ingratitude  shows  a  bad  heart; 
and  in  my  opinion  to  say  a  feller's  a  Radical,  is  as  much  as  to  say 
he's  everything  that's  bad.  I'll  tell  you  what's  observed  all  over 
England,  that  them  that  make  a  fortin  out  of  gentlemen,  as  soon  as 
they  shut  up  shop  turn  round,  and  become  Radicals,  and  oppose 
them.  Radicalism  is  like  that  Dutch  word  Spitzbube.  It's  every- 
thing bad  biled  down  to  a  essence.  Well,  Soloman  was  a  Radical — 
he  was  agin  the  Church,  because  he  had  no  say  in  the  appoint- 


280 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


ment  of  the  parsons,  and  couldn't  bully  them.  He  was  agin  law- 
yers 'cause  they  took  fees  from  him  when  they  sued  him.  He 
was  agin  judges,  'cause  they  rode  their  circuits  and  didn't  walk.  Ho 
was  agin  the  governor,  'cause  the  governor  didn't  ask  him  to 
dine.  He  was  agin  the  admiral,  'cause  pursers  had  ready-made 
clothes  for  sailors,  and  didn't  buy  them  at  his  shop.  He  was  agin 
the  army  'cause  his  wife  ran  off  with  a  sodger — the  only  good  rea- 
son he  ever  had  in  his  life ;  in  short,  he  was  agin  everything  and 
everybody. 

"  Well,  Soloman's  day  came  at  last,  for  every  dog  has  his  day  in 
this  world.  Responsible  government  came,  things  got  turned  upside 
down,  and  Soloman  turned  up,  and  was  made  a  magistrate  of.  Well, 
there  was  a  Carolina  refugee,  one  Captain  Nestor  Biggs,  lived  near 
him,  an  awful  feller  to  swear,  most  o'  those  refugees  were  so,  and  he 
feared  neither  God  nor  man. 

"  He  was  a  sneezer  of  a  sinner  was  Captain  Nestor,  and  always  in 
law  for  everlastin'.  He  spent  his  whole  pension  in  Court,  folks  said. 
Nestor  went  to  Soloman,  and  told  him  to  issue  a  writ  agin  a  man. 
It  was  Soloman's  first  writ,  so  says  he  to  himself,  'I'll  write  fust 
afore  I  sue ;  writin's  civil,  and  then  I  can  charge  for  letter  and  writ 
too,  and  I'm  always  civil  when  I'm  paid  for  it.  Mother  did  right  to 
call  me  Soloman,  didn't  she  ?'  Well,  he  wrote  the  letter,  and  the 
man  that  got  it  din't  know  what  under  the  sun  to  make  of  it.  This 
was  the  letter —  * 

"'Sir,  if  you  do  not  return  to  Captain  Nestor  Biggs,  the  Iron 
God  of  his,  now  in  your  possession,  I  shall  sue  you.  Pos  is  the 
wod.  Given  under  my  hand,  Soloman  Figg,  one  of  her  most 
gracious  Majesty's  Justices  of  the  Peace  in  and  for  the  County  of 
St.  John." 

"  Radicals  are  great  hands  for  all  the  honors  themselves,  tho'  they 
won't  ginn  none  to  others.  '  Well,'  sais  the  man  to  himself,  '  what 
on  airth  does  this  mean  ?'  So  off  he  goes  to  the  church  parson  to 
read  it  for  him. 

" '  Dear  me,'  sais  he,  *  this  is  awful ;  what  is  this  ?  I  by  itself, 
I-r-o-n — Iron,  G-o-d — God.  Yes,  it  is  Iron  God ! — Have  you  got 
such  a  graven  image  ?' 

"  Me,'  sais  the  man,  *  No :  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.' 

" '  Dear,  dear,'  sais  the  parson,  *  I  always  knew  the  captain  was  a 
wicked  man,  a  horrid  wicked  man,  but  I  didn't  think  he  was  an 
idolater.  I  thought  he  was  too  sinful  to  worship  anything,  even  an 
iron  idol.    What  times  we  live  in,  let's  go  to  the  Captain.' 

"  Well,  off  they  sot  to  the  Captain,  and  when  he  heerd  of  this 
graven  image,  he  swore  and  raved — so  the  parson  put  a  finger  in 
each  ear,  and  ran  round  the  room,  screamin'  like  a  stuck  pig.  '  I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is,  old  boy,'  says  the  Captain,  a  rippin'  out  some  most 
awful  smashers,  '  if    ou  go  on  kickin'  up  such  a  row  here,  I'U  stop 


SAM  SLICK   IN    ENGLAND. 


281 


your  wind  for  you  double-quick,  bo  no  muBimery,  if  you  please. 
Come  along  with  me  to  thut  scoundrel,  Solomon  Figg,  and  I'll  make 
him  go  down  on  his  knees,  and  beg  pfirdon.  What  the  devil  does 
he  mean  by  talkin'  of  iron  idols,  I  want  to  know/ 

^  Well,  they  went  into  Soloman's  house,  and  Soloman,  who  was 
sittin'  straddle-legs  on  a  counter,  a  sewin'  away  for  dear  life,  jumps 
down  in  a  minit'  ons  shoes  and  coat,  and  shows  'em  into  his  office, 
which  was  jist  opposite  to  his  shop.  '  Read  that,  Sir,'  sais  the  Cap- 
tain, lookin'  as  fierce  as  a  tiger ;  '  read  that,  you  everlastin'  radical 
scoundrel !  did  you  write  that  infamous  letter  ?'  Soloman  takes  it, 
and  reads  it  all  over,  and  then  hands  it  back,  lookin'  as  wise  as  an 
owl.  'Its  all  right,'  sais  he.  'Right,'  sais  the  Captain,  and  he 
caught  him  by  the  throat.  *  What  do  you  mean  by  my  "  Iron  God," 
Sir  ?  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  infernal  libeUin',  rebel  rascal  ?* 
'  I  never  said  it,'  said  Soloman.  '  No,  you  never  said  it,  but  you 
wrote  it.'  '  I  never  wrote  it ;  no,  nor  I  never  heerd  of  it.*  *  Look 
at  these  words,'  said  the  Captain, '  did  you  write  them  ?'  '  Well, 
well,'  sais  Soloman, '  they  do  spell  alike,  too,  don't  they ;  they  are 
the  identical  same  letters  G-o-d,  dog;  I  have  spelt  it  backwards, 
that's  all ;  it's  the  iron  dog,  Captain ;  you  know  what  that  is-— don't 
you.  Squire :  it  is  an  iron  wedge  sharped  at  one  eend,  and  bavin'  a 
ring  in  it  at  t'other.  It's  drove  into  the  but  eend  of  a  log,  an'  a 
chain  is  hooked  to  the  ring,  and  the  cattle  drag  the  log  eend-ways  by 
it  on  the  ground ;  it  is  called  an  iron  dog.'  Oh,  how  the  Captain 
swore  1" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Minister,  "  never  mind  repeating  his  oaths ;  he 
must  have  been  an  ignorant  magistrate  indeed  not  to  be  able  to  spell 


''  He  was  a  Radical  magistrate  of  the  Jack  Frost  school,  Sir,"  said 
Mr.  Slick.  "  The  Liberals  have  made  magistrates  to  England  not  a 
bit  better  nor  Soloman,  I  can  tell  you.  Well,  they  always  called 
him  arter  that  the  Iron  G ." 

"  Nevor  mind  what  they  called  him,"  said  Mr..  Hopewell ;  "  but 
what  is  the  story  of  looking  pale,  for  there  is  a  kind  of  something  in 
that  last  one  that  I  daa't  exactly  like  ?  There  are  words  in  it  that 
shock  me ;  if  you  could  tell  the  story  without  them,  it  is  not  a  bad 
story ;  tell  us  the  other  part." 

"  Well,  you  know,  as  I  was  a  sayin*,  when  responsible  government 
came  to  the  Colonies,  it  was  like  the  Reform  bile  to  England,  stir- 
ring up  the  pot,  and  a  settin'  all  a  fermentin',  set  a  good  deal  of 
scum  a  floatin'  on  the  top  of  it.  Among  the  rest,  Soloman,  being 
light  and  frothy,  was  about  as  buoyant  as  any.  When  the  House 
of  Assembly  met  to  Fredericton,  up  goes  Soloman,  and  writes  his 
name  on  the  book  at  Government  House — Soloman  Figg,  J.  P. 
Down  comes  the  Sargeant  with  a  card,  quick  as  wink,  for  the  Gov- 
ernor's ball  that  night.    Soloman  wam't  a  bad  lookin'  feller  at  all ; 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


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Photogr^hic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  873-4503 


// 


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^ 


282 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


and  bein'  a  tailor,  in  course  he  had  his  clothes  well  made ;  and,  take 
him  altogether,  he  was  jist  a  leetle  nearer  the  notch  than  one  half 
of  the  members  was,  for  most  on  'em  was  from  the  country,  and 
looked  a  nation  sight  more  like  Caraboos  than  legislate  rs ;  indeed 
the  nobs  about  Fredericton  always  call  them  Caraboos. 

**  Well,  his  tongue  wagged  about  the  limberest  you  ever  see ;  his 
head  was  turned,  so  he  talked  to  every  one ;  and  at  supper  he  eat 
and  drank  as  if  he  never  see  vittals  afore  since  he  was  weaned.  He 
made  a  great  night  of  it.  Our  Consul  told  me  he  thought  he  should 
have  died  a  larfin'  to  see  him :  he  talked  about  the  skiiis  of  the  coun- 
try, and  the  fork  of  the  river,  and  button-hole  connections,  and  linin' 
his  stomach  well,  and  basting  the  Yankees,  and  everything  but  cab- 
baging. No  man  ever  heerd  a  tailor  use  that  word,  any  more  than 
they  ever  see  a  Jew  eat  pork.  Oh !  he  had  a  reg'lar  lark  of  it,  and 
his  tongue  ran  like  a  mill-wheel,  whirlin'  and  sputterin'  like  anythin'. 
The  officers  of  the regiment  that  was  stationed  there  took  him 


for  a  Member  of  Assembly,  and  seein'  he  was  a  character,  had  him 
up  to  the  mess  to  dine  next  day. 

'*  Soloman  was  as  amazed  as  if  he  was  jist  bom.  <  Heavens  and 
airth !'  said  he, '  responsible  government  is  a  great  thin'  too,  ain't  it. 
Here  am  I  to  Government  House  with  all  the  big  bugs  and  their 
ladies,  and  upper  crust  folks,  as  free  and  easy  as  an  old  glove.  To- 
day I  dine  with  the  officers  of regiment,  the  most  aristocratic 

regiment  we  ever  had  in  the  Province.  I  wish  my  father  had  put 
me  into  the  army ;  I'd  rather  wear  a  red  coat  than  make  one  any 
time.  One  thing  is  certain,  if  responsible  government  lasts  long,  we 
shall  all  rise  to  be  gentlemen,  or  else  all  gentlemen  must  come  down 
to  the  level  of  tailors,  and  no  mistake ;  one  coat  will  fit  both.  Dinink 
at  a  mess,  eh !  Well,  why  not  ?  I  can  make  as  good  a  coat  as 
Buckmaster  any  day.' 

"  Well,  Soloman  was  rather  darnted  at  fust  by  the  number  of  sar- 
vants,  and  the  blaze  of  uniform  coats,  and  the  horrid  difficult  cook- 
ery ;  but  champagne  strengthened  his  eyesight,  for  every  one  took 
wine  with  him,  till  he  saw  so  clear  he  strained  his  eyes ;  for  they 
grew  weaker  and  weaker  arter  the  right  focus  was  passed,  till  he  saw 
things  double.  Arter  dinner  they  adjourned  into  the  barrack-room 
of  one  of  the  officers,  and  there  they  had  a  game  of '  Here  comes  I, 
Jack  upon  hips.' 

"  The  youngsters  put  Soloman,  who  had  a  famous  long  back,  jist 
at  the  right  distance,  and  then  managed  to  jump  jist  so  as  to  come 
right  on  him,  and  they  all  jumped  on  him,  and  down  he'd  smash  with 
the  weight ;  then  they'd  banter  him  for  not  bein'  game,  place  him 
up  agin  in  line,  jump  on  him,  and  smash  him  down  agin  till  he  could 
hold  out  no  longer.  Then  came  hot  whisky  toddy,  and  some  screech- 
in'  songs ;  and  Soloman  sung,  and  the  officers  went  into  fits,  for  he 
fiung  such  splendid  songs ;  and  then  his  health  was  drunk,  and  Solo- 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


288 


man  made  a  speech.  He  said,  tho'  he  had  a  *  stitcK  in  the  side  from 
laughin/  and  was  <  sewed  up*  a'most  too  much  to  speak,  and  was 
afraid  he'd  '  rip  ouf  what  he  hadn't  ought,  yet  their  kindness  had 
^tied*  him  as  with  ^lisV  to  them  for  'the  remnant' of  his  life,  and 
years  would  never  *  sponge*  it  out  of  his  heart. 

"  They  roared  and  cheered  him  so,  a  kinder  confused  him,  for  he 
couldn't  recollect  nothin'  arter  that,  nor  how  he  got  to  the  inn ;  but 
the  waiter  told  him  four  sodgers  carried  him  in  on  a  shutter.  Next 
day,  off  Soloman  started  in  the  steam-boat  for  St.  John.  The  offi- 
cers had  took  him  for  a  Member  of  Assembly,  and  axed  him  jist  to 
take  a  rise  out  of  him.  When  they  lamed  the  mistake,  and  that  it 
was  ready-made  Figg,  the  tailor,  they  had  been  makin'  free  with, 
they  didn't  think  it  was  half  so  good  a  joke  as  it  was  afore ;  for  they 
seed  one  half  of  the  larf  was  agin  them,  and  only  t'other  half  agin 
Soloman.  They  never  tell  the  story  now ;  but  Soloman  did  and  still 
does  like  a  favorite  air  with  variations.  As  soon  as  he  got  back  to 
St.  John,  he  went  about  to  every  one  he  knew,  and  said, '  Don't  I 
look  pale  ?'  *  Why,  no,  I  can't  say  you  do.'  *  Well,  I  feel  used  up 
enough  to  look  so,  I  can  tell  you.  I'm  ashamed  to  say  I've  been 
horrid  dissipated  lately.  I  was  at  Government  House  night  before 
last' 

"  *  You  at  Government  House  ?'  *  Me !  to  be  sure ;  is  there  any- 
thing strange  in  that,  seeing  that  the  family  compact  is  gone,  the 
Fredericton  clique  broke  up,  and  'sponsible  governments  come? 
Yes,  I  was  to  Government  House — it  waa  such  an  agreeable  party ; 
I  believe  I  staid  too  late,  and  made  to  ,  free  at  supper,  for  I  had  a 

headache  next  day.     Sad  dogs  them  officers  of  the regiment ; 

they  are  too  gay  for  me.  I  dined  there  yesterday  at  their  mess ;  a 
glorious  day  we  had  of  it — ^free  and  easy — all  gentlemen — no  damn 
starch  airs,  sticking  themselves  up  for  gentlemen,  but  rael  good  fel- 
lers. I  should  have  gone  home  arter  mess,  but  there's  no  gettin' 
away  from  such  good  company.  They  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  an- 
swer ;  nothin'  must  serve  them  but  I  must  go  to  Captain 's  room. 

*Pon  honor,  'twas  a  charming  night.  Jack  upon  hips — whisky 
speeches,  songs  and  whisky  again,  till  I  could  hardly  reach  home. 

Fine  fellows  those  of  the regiment,  capital  fellers ;  no  nonsense 

about  them ;  had  their  shell  jackets  on ;  a  stylish  thing;  them  shell 
jackets,  and  not  so  formal  as  full  dress  nother.  What  a  nice  feller 
Lord  Fetter  Lane  is;  easy  excited,  a  thimble  full  docs  it,  but  it 
makes  him  as  sharp  as  a  needle* 

"  Then  he'd  go  on  till  he  met  another  friend ;  he'd  put  on  a  dole- 
ful face,  and  Say,  *  Don't  I  look  pale  ?'  '  Well,  I  think  you  do ; 
what's  the  matter?'  and  then  he'd  up  and  tell  the  whole  story,  till  it 
got  to  be  a  by-word.  Whenever  any  one  sees  a  feller  now  a-doin' 
big,  or  a-talkin'  big,  they  always  say, '  Don't  I  look  pale  ?'  as  ready- 
made  Figg  said. 


284 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


*'  Now,  Minister,  I  am  not  like  Soloman,  I've  not  been  axed  by 
mistake,  I'm  not  talkin'  of  what  I  don't  know ;  sc  don't  be  afeerd, 
every  one  knows  me ;  tante  necessary  for  me,  when  I  go  among  the 
toplofliest  of  the  nation,  to  run  about  town  the  next  day,  sayin'  to 
every  man  I  meet, '  Don't  I  look  pale  ?' " 


m 
of 


I 


CHAPTER    L. 
THE    COLONIAL    OFFICE. 

The  last  three  days  were  devoted  to  visiting  various  mad-houses 
and  lunatic  asylums  in  London  and  its  vicinity.  In  this  tour  of  in- 
spection we  were  accompanied  by  Dr.  Spun,  a  distinguished  physi- 
cian of  Boston,  and  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Hopewell's.  Afler  leaving 
Bedlam,  the  Doctor,  who  was  something  of  a  humorist,  said  there 
was  one  on  a  larger  scale  which  he  wished  to  show  us,  but  declined 
giving  the  name  until  we  should  arrive  at  it,  as  he  wished  to  sur- 
prise us. 

Our  curiosity  was,  of  course,  a  good  deal  excited  by  some  vague 
allusions  he  made  to  the  condition  of  the  inmates ;  when  he  suddenly 
ordered  the  carriage  to  stop,  and  conducting  us  to  the  entrance  of  a 
court,  said,  "  Here  is  a  pile  of  buildings  which  the  nation  has  devoted 
to  the  occupation  of  those  whose  minds  having  been  engrossed  dur- 
ing a  series  of  years  by  politics,  are  supposed  to  labor  under  mono- 
mania. All  these  folks,"  he  said,  "  imagine  themselves  to  be  govern- 
ing the  world,  and  the  only  cure  that  has  been  discovered  is,  to  in- 
dulge them  in  their  whim.  They  are  permitted  to  form  a  course  of 
policy,  which  is  submitted  to  a  body  of  persons  chosen  for  the  express 
purpose,  who  either  approve  or  reject  it,  according  as  it  appears 
more  or  less  sane,  and  who  furnish  or  withhold  the  means  of  carry- 
ing it  out,  as  they  see  fit. 

*'  £ach  man  has  a  department  given  to  him,  filled  with  subordi- 
nates, who,  though  not  always  the  best  qualified,  are  always  in  their 
rght  mind,  and  who  do  the  working  part  of  the  business;  the  board 
of  delegates,  and  of  superior  clerks,  while  they  indulge  them  in  their 
humor,  as  far  as  possible,  eudeavor  to  extract  the  mischievous  part 
from  every  measure.  They  are,  therefore,  generally  harmless,  and 
are  allowed  to  go  at  large,  and  there  have  been  successive  genera- 
tions of  them  for 'centuries.  Sometimes  they  become  dangerous,  and 
then  the  board  of  delegates  pass  a  vote  of  'want  of  confidence'  in 
them,  and  they  are  all  removed,  and  other  imbeciles  are  substituted 
in  their  place,  when  the  same  course  of  treatment  is  pursued.**       • 


ai 


SAH  SLIOK  IN  ENGLAND. 


285 


and 


*<  Is  a  care  often  effected  ?*  said  Mr.  Hopewell. 

"  Not  very  often,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  they  are  considered  as  the 
most  difficult  to  cure  of  any  insane  people,  politics  having  so  much 
of  excitement  in  them ;  but  now  and  then  you  hear  of  a  man  being 
perfectly  restored  to  health,  abandoning  his  ruling  passion  of  politics, 
and  returning  to  his  family,  and  devoting  himself  to  rural  or  to  liter- 
ary pursuits,  an  ornament  to  society,  or  a  patron  to  its  institutions. 
Lately,  the  whole  of  the  inmates  became  so  dangerous,  from  some 
annoyances  they  received,  that  the  whole  country  was  alarmed,  and 
every  one  of  them  was  removed  from  the  buildings. 

**  In  this  Asylum,  it  has  been  found  that  harsh  treatment  only 
aggravates  the  disease.  Compliance  with  the  whim  of  patients 
soothes  and  calms  the  mind,  and  diminishes  the  nervous  excitement 
Lord  Glencoe,  for  instance,  was  here  not  long  since,  and  imagined 
he  was  governing  all  the  colonies.  Constant  indulgence  very  soon 
operated  on  his  brain  like  a  narcotic ;  he  slept  nearly  all  the  time, 
and  when  he  awoke,  his  attendant,  who  affected  to  be  first  clerk, 
used  to  lay  before  him  despatches,  which  he  persuaded  him  he  had 
written  himself,  and  gravely  asked  him  to  sign  them :  he  was  very 
soon  permitted  to  be  freed  from  all  restraint.  Lord  Palmerstaff 
imagined  himself  the  admiration  of  all  the  women  in  town,  he  called 
himself  Cupid,  spent  half  the  day  in  bed,  and  the  other  half  at  his 
toilet;  wrote  all  night  about  Syria,  Boundiury  line,  and  such  matters; 
or  else  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  conning  over  a  speech  for 
Parliament,  which  he  said  was  to  be  delivered  at  the  end  of  the 
session.  Lord  Wallgrave  fancied  he  was  the  devil,  and  that  the 
Church  and  the  Bench  were  conspiring  against  him,  and  punishing 
his  dearest  friends  and  supporters,  so  he  was  all  day  writing  out 
pardons  for  felons,  orders  for  opening  jails,  and  retaining  prisoners, 
or  devising  schemes  for  abolishing  parsons,  making  one  bishop  do 
the  work  of  two,  and  so  on.     Lord  M " 

Here,  the  words ''  Downing  Street "  caught  my  eye,  as  designating 
the  place  we  were  in,  which  I  need  not  say  contains  the  government 
offices,  and,  among  others,  the  Colonial  Office.  ^  This,"  I  said,  "  is 
very  well  for  you,  Dr.  Spun,  as  an  American,  to  sport  as  a  joke,  but 
it  is  dangerous  ground  for  me,  as  a  colonist  and  a  loyal  man,  and, 
therefore,  if  you  please,  we  will  di'op  the  allegory.  If  you  apply 
your  remark  to  all  government  offices,  in  all  countries,  there  may  be 
some  truth  in  it,  for  I  believe  all  politicians  to  be  more  or  less  either 
so  warped  by  party  feeling,  by  selfishness,  or  prejudices,  that  their 
minds  are  not  altogether  truly  balanced ;  but  I  must  protest  against 
its  restriction  to  the  English  government  alone,  as  distinguished 
from  others." 

<*  I  know  nothing  about  any  of  their  offices,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell, 
**  but  the  Colonial  office ;  and  that  certainly  requires  re-construction. 
The  interests  of  the  colonies  are  too  vast,  too  various,  and  too  com- 


286 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR. 


h 


plicated,  to  be  intrusted  to  any  one  man,  however  transcendant  his 
ability,  or  persevering  his  industry,  or  extensive  his  information 
may  be.  Upon  the  sudden  dissolution  of  a  government,  a  new  colo- 
nial minister  is  appointed :  in  most  cases,  he  has  everything  to  leaiTi, 
having  never  had  his  attention  drawn  to  this  branch  of  public 
business,  during  the  previous  part  of  his  political  life ;  if  this  happens 
unfortunately  to  be  the  case,  he  never  can  acquire  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  his  department,  for  during  the  whole  of  his  continuance  in 
office,  his  attention  is  distracted  by  various  government  measures  of 
a  general  nature,  which  require  the  attention  of  the  whole  cabinet. 
The  sole  qualification  that  now  exists  for  this  high  office  is  parlia- 
mentary influence,  talent,  and  habits  of  business ;  but  none  of  them 
separately,  nor  all  of  them  collectively,  are  sufficient.  Personal  and 
practical  experience  for  a  series  of  years,  of  the  people,  and  the 
affairs  of  the  colonies,  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  a  successful  dis- 
charge of  duty. 

"  How  many  persons  who  have  held  this  high  office  were  either 
too  indolent  to  work  themselves,  or  too  busy  to  attend  to  their  duties, 
or  too  weak,  or  too  wild  in  their  theories,  to  be  entrusted  with  such 
heavy  responsibilities?  Many,  when  they  acted  for  themselves, 
have  acted  wrong,  from  these  causes ;  and  when  they  allowed  others 
to  act  for  them,  have  raised  a  subordinate  to  be  a  head  of  the  office 
whom  no  other  persons  in  the  kingdom  or  the  colonies  but  them- 
selves would  have  entrusted  with  such  important  matters :  it  is, 
therefore,  a  choice  of  evils  ;  colonists  have  either  to  lament  a  hasty 
or  erroneous  decision  of  a  principal,  or  submit  to  the  dictation  of  an 
upper  clerk,  whose  talents,  or  whose  acquirements  are  perhaps  much 
below  that  of  both  contending  parties,  whose  interests  are  to  be 
bound  by  his  decision." 

"  How  would  you  remedy  this  evil  ?"  I  said,  for  it  was  a  subject 
in  which  I  felt  deeply  interested,  and  one  on  which  I  knew  he  was 
the  most  competent  man  living  to  offi3r  advice. 

*'  Every  board,"  he  said,  "  must  have  a  head,  and,  according  to 
the  structure  of  the  machinery  of  this  government,  I  would  still  have 
a  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies ;  but  instead  of  under  secre- 
taries, I  would  substitute  a  board  of  control,  or  council,  which- 
ever board  best  suited,  of  which  board  he  should  be  ex-officio  Presi- 
dent. It  is  thought  necessary,  even  in  a  colony,  where  a  man  can 
both  hear,  and  see,  and  judge  for  himself,  to  surround  a  governor 
with  a  council,  how  much  more  necessary  is  it  to  afford  that  assist- 
ance to  a  man  who  never  saw  a  colony,  and,  until  he  accepted  office, 
probably  never  heard  of  half  of  them,  or  if  he  has  heard  of  them,  is 
not  quite  certain  even  as  to  their  geographic  situation.  It  is  natural 
that  this  obvious  necesblty  should  not  have  presented  itself  to  a 
minister  before :  it  is  a  restraint  on  power,  and  tlicrefore  not  accept- 
able.   He  is  not  willing  to  trust  his  governors,  uad  therefore  gives 


SAM  SLICK  IN  BNOLAND. 


287 


endant  his 
iformation 
new  colo- 
?  to  leara, 
of  public 
s  happens 
gh  know- 
nuance  in 
asures  of 
e  cabinet, 
is  parlia- 
e  of  them 
sonal  and 
■,  and  the 
issful  dis- 

re  either 
ir  duties, 
("ith  such 
!mselves, 
id  others 
:he  office 
ut  them- 
rs  :  it  is, 
t  a  hasty 
on  of  an 
ps  much 
e  to  be 

subject 
he  was 

rding  to 
ill  have 
p  secre- 

which- 

Presi- 
tan  can 
>vernor 

assist- 
1  office, 
lem,  is 
latural 
f  to  a 
^cept- 
I  gives 


them  a  council ;  he  is  then  unwilling  to  trust  both,  and  reserves  the 
right  to  approve  or  reject  their  acts  in  certain  cases.  He  thinks 
them  incompetent ;  but  who  ever  supposed  he  was  competent  ?  If 
the  resident  governor,  aided  by  the  best  and  wisest  heads  in  a  colony, 
advised,  checked,  and  sounded  by  local  public  opinion,  is  not  equal 
to  the  task,  how  can  a  Lancashire  or  Devonshire  member  of  Par- 
liament be  ?  Ask  the  weak  or  the  vain,  or  the  somnolent  ones, 
whom  I  need  not  mention  by  name,  and  they  will  severally  tell  you 
it  is  the  easier  thing  in  the  world ;  we  understand  the  principles, 
and  our  under  secretaries  understand  the  details ;  the  only  difficulty 
we  have  is  in  the  ignorance,  prejudice,  and  rascality  of  colonists 
themselves.  Go  and  ask  the  present  man,  who  is  the  most  able,  the 
most  intelligent,  the  most  laborious  and  eloquent  one  of  them  all,  if 
there  is  any  difficulty  in  the  task  to  a  person  who  sedulously  strives 
to  understand,  and  honestly  endeavors  to  remedy  colonial  difficulties, 
and  hear  what  he  will  tell  you. 

" '  How  can  you  ask  me  that  question,  Sir  ?  When  did  you  ever 
call  and  find  me  absent  from  my  post?  Read  my  despatches,  and  you 
will  see  whether  I  work ;  study  them,  and  you  will  see  whether  I 
understand.  I  may  not  always  judge  rightly,  but  I  endeavor  always 
to  judge  honestly.  You  inquire  whether  there  is  any  difficulty  in 
the  task.  Can  you  look  in  my  face  and  ask  that  question  ?  Look 
at  my  care-worn  brow,  my  hectic  eye,  my  attenuated  frame,  my 
pallid  face,  and  my  premature  age,  ond  let  them  answer  you.  Sir, 
the  labor  is  too  great  for  any  one  man  :  the  task  is  Herculean. 
Ambition  may  inspire,  and  fame  may  reward ;  but  it  is  death  alone 
that  weaves  the  laurel  round  the  brow  of  a  successful  colonial 
minister.'  *  •  , 

"  No,  my  good  friend,  it  cannot  be.  No  man  can  do  the  work. 
If  he  at:;.mpts  it,  he  must  do  it  badly ;  if  he  delegates  it,  it  were 
better  left  undone :  there  should  be  a  board  of  control  or  council. 
This  board  should  consist  in  part  of  ex-governors  and  colonial  offi- 
cers of  English  appointment,  and  in  part  of  retired  members  of  as- 
sembly or  legislative  councillors,  or  judges,  or  secretaries,  or  other 
similar  functionaries,  being  native  colonists.  All  of  them  should 
have  served  in  public  life  a  certain  number  of  years,  and  all  should 
be  men  who  have  stood  high  in  public  estimation,  not  as  popular 
men  (for  that  is  no  test),  but  for  integrity,  ability,  and  knowledge 
of  the  world.  With  such  a  council,  so  constituted,  and  so  comported, 
you  would  never  hear  of  a  Governor-General  dictating  the  des- 
patches that  were  to  be  sent  to  him,  as  is  generally  reported  in 
Canada,  with  or  without  foundation,  of  Poulett  Thompson.  One  of 
the  best  governed  countries  in  the  world  is  India ;  but  India  is  not 
governed  in  Downing  Street.  Before  responsible  government  can 
be  introduced  there,  it  must  receive  the  approbation  of  practical 
men,  conversant  with  the  country,  deeply  interested  in  its  weli'are, 


288 


THE   ATTACH^;   OR, 


and  perfectly  competent  to  judge  of  its  merits.  India  is  safe  from 
experiments ;  I  wish  you  were  equally  secure.  While  your  local 
politicians  distract  the  attention  of  the  public  with  their  personal 
squabbles,  all  these  important  matters  are  lost  sight  of,  or  rather 
are  carefully  kept  out  of  view.  The  only  voice  that  is  now  heard 
is  one  that  is  raised  to  mislead,  and  not  to  inform ;  to  complain  with- 
out truth,  to  demand  without  right,  and  to  obstruct  without  principle. 
Yes,  you  want  a  board  of  control.  Were  this  once  established, 
instead  of  having  an  office  in  Downing  Street  for  the  Secretary  of 
State  for  the  Colonies,  which  is  all  you  now  have,  you  would  possess 
in  reality  what  you  now  have  nominally — '  a  Colonial  Office.' " 


CHAPTER   LI. 
BARNEY    OXMAN   AND   THE   DEVIL. 

The  manner  and  conduct  of  Colonel  Slick  has  been  so  eccentric, 
that  for  several  days  past  I  have  had  some  apprehensions  that  he 
was  not  altogether  compos  mentis.  His  spiritfs  have  been  exceeding- 
ly unequal,  being  at  times  much  exhilarated,  and  then  subject  to  a 
corresponding  depression.  To-day,  I  asked  his  son  if  he  knew  what 
had  brought  him  to  England,  but  he  was  wholly  at  a  loss,  and 
evidently  very  anxious  about  him.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  what 
onder  the  sun  fetched  him  here.  I  never  heered  a  word  of  it  till 
about  a  week  afore  he  arrived.  I  then  got  a  letter  from  him,  but 
you  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it ;  here  it  is. 

"  *  Dear  Sam — Guess  I'll  come  and  see  you  for  a  spell ;  but  keep 
dark  about  it.  I  hante  been  much  from  home  of  late,  and  a  run  at 
grass  won't  hurt  me,  I  reckon.  Besides.,  I  have  an  idea  that  some- 
thin'  may  turn  up  to  advantage.  At  any  rate,  it's  worth  looking 
after.  AH  I  want  is  proof,  and  then  I  guess  I  wouldn't  call  old 
Hickory,  or  Martin  Van,  no,  nor  Captain  Tyler  nother,  my  cousin. 
My  farm  troubles  me,  for  a  farm  and  a  wife  soon  run  wild  if  left 
alone  long.  Barney  Oxman  has  a  considerable  of  a  notion  for  it, 
and  Barney  is  a  good  ..farmer,  and  no  mistake ;  but  I'm  most  afeerd 
he  ain't  the  clear  grit.  Godward,  he  is  very  pious,  but,  manward, 
he  is  a  little  twistical.  It  was  him  that  wrastled  with  the  evil  one 
at  Musquash  Creek,  when  he  courted  that  long-legged  heifer, 
Jerusha  Eells.  Fast  bind,  sure  find,  is  my  way ;  and  if  he  gets 
it,  in  course,  he  must  tind  security.  I  have  had  the  rheumatiz 
lately.  Miss  Hubbard  Hobbs,  she  that  was  Nancy  Waddle,  told  me 
two  teaspoonsful  of  brimstone,  in  a  glass  of  gin,  going  to  bed,  for 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


289 


safe  from 
your  local 
r  personal 

or  rather 
low  heard 
ilain  with- 
principle. 
tablished, 
iretary  of 
Id  possess 
se.' " 


jccentric, 
s  that  he 
:ceeding- 
(jeet  to  a 
lew  what 
OSS,  and 
"what 
of  it  till 
him,  but 


}ut  keep 
a  run  at 
it  some- 
looking 
call  old 

cousin. 
d  if  left 
n  for  it, 
I  afeerd 
inward, 
Jvil  one 

heifer, 
le  gets 
umatiz 
old  me 
led,  for 


three  nights,  handrunnin\  was  the  onlyest  thing  in  natur*  for  it. 
The  old  catamount  was  right  for  oncet  in  her  life,  as  it  cured  me  of 
the  rheumatiz  ;  but  it  cured  me  of  gin,  too.  I  don't  think  I  could 
drink  it  any  more  for  thinkin'  of  the  horrid  brimstone.  It  was  a 
little  the  nastiest  dose  I  ever  took ;  still  it's  worth  knowin'.  I  like 
simples  better  nor  doctors'  means  any  day.  Sal  made  a  hundred 
dollars  by  her  bees,  and  three  hundred  dollars  by  her  silk-worms, 
this  year.  It  aint't  so  coarse  that,  is  it?  But  Sal  is  a  good  girl, 
too  good  for  that  cussed  idle  fellow,  Jim  Munroe.  What  a  fool  I 
was  to  cut  him  down  that  time  he  got  hung  by  the  leg  in  the  moose- 
trap  you  sot  for  him,  warn't  I  ?  There  is  nothin'  new  here,  except 
them  almighty  villains,  the  Loco  Focos,  have  carried  their  man  for 
governor ;  but  this  you  will  see  by  the  papers.  The  wonder  is  what 
I'm  going  to  England  for ;  but  that  is  my  business,  and  not  theirn. 
I  can  squat  lov/  and  say  nothin'  as  well  as  any  one.  A  crittur  that 
goes  blartin'  out  all  he  knows  to  every  one  ain't  a  man  in  no  sense 
of  the  word.  If  you  haven't  nothin'  above  partikelar  to  do,  I  should 
like  you  to  meet  me  at  Liverpool  about  the  loth  of  next  month  that 
is  to  be,  as  I  shall  feel  considerable  scary  -when  I  first  land,  seein' 
that  I  never  was  to  England  afore,  and  never  could  cleverly  find  my 
way  about  a  large  town  at  no  time.  If  all  eventuates  right,  and 
turns  out  well,  it  will  saranly  be  the  making  of  the  Slick  family, 
stock,  lock,  and  barrel,  that's  a  fact  I  most  forgot  to  tell  you  about 
old  Varginy,  sister  of  your  old  Clay.  I  depend  my  life  on  that 
mar  i.  You  can't  ditto  her  nowhere.  There  actilly  ain't  a  beast 
fit  to  be  named  on  the  same  day  with  her  in  all  this  county.  "Well, 
Varginy  got  a  most  monstrous  fit  of  the  botts.  If  she  didn't  stamp 
and  bite  her  sides,  and  sweat  all  over  like  Statiee,  it's  a  pity.  She 
went  most  ravin'  distracted  mad  with  pain,  and  I  actilly  thought  I'd 
a-lost  her,  she  was  so  bad.  Barney  Oxman  was  here  at  the  time, 
and  sais  he,  *  I'll  cure  her.  Colonel,  if  you  will  leave  it  to  me.'  '  Well,' 
sais  I, '  do  what  you  please,  only  I  wish  you'd  shoot  the  i-  oor  crittur 
to  put  her  out  of  pain,  for  I  believe  her  latter  eend  has  come,  that's 
^  fact.'  Well,  what  does  he  do,  but  goes  and  gets  half  a  pint  of 
hardwood  ashes  and  pours  on  to  it  a  pint  of  vinegar,  opens  Varginy's 
mouth,  holds  on  to  her  tongue,  and  puts  the  nose  of  the  bottle  in; 
and  I  hope  I  may  never  live  another  blessed  minit,  if  it  didn't  shoot 
itself  right  off  down  her  throat.  Talk  of  a  beer  bottle  bustin'  it's 
cork,  and  walkin'  out  quick  stick,  why,  it  ain't  the  smallest  part  of  a 
circumstance  to  it. 

"  *  It  cured  her.  If  it  warn't  an  active  dose,  then  physic  ain't 
medecine,  that's  all.  It  made  the  botts  lose  their  hold  in  no  time. 
It  was  a  wonder  to  behold.  I  believe  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  thing  for 
a  man  in  the  cholera,  for  that  ain't  a  bit  wuss  than  botts,  and  nothin' 
invatur'  can  stand  that  dose — ^I  ain't  sure  it  wouldn't  bust  a  byler. 
If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  physic  them  'cussed  Loco  Fooos  with  it }  it 

13 


^BB 


290 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


*  \ 


f  • 


would  drive  the  devil  out  of  them,  as  drownin'  did  out  of  the  swine 
that  was  possessed.  I  raised  my  tuniips  last  year  in  my  corn-hills 
at  second  hoeing ;  it  saved  labor,  land,  and  time,  and  was  all  clear 
gain  :  it  warn't  a  bad  notion,  was  it  ?  The  Squash  Bank  has  failed. 
I  was  wide  awake  for  them ;  I  knowed  it  would,  so  I  drawed  out  all 
I  had  there,  and  kept  the  balance  agin  me.  I  can  buy  their  paper 
ten  cents  to  the  dollar  to  pay  with.  I  hope  you  have  nothin'  in  the 
consarn.  I  will  tell  you  all  other  news  when  we  meet.  Give  my 
respects  to  Gineral  Wellington,  Victoria  Queen,  Mr.  Everett,  and 
all  inquiring  friends. 

•' '  Your  affectionate  Father, 

"♦S.  Slick,  Lieut.  Col."* 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  He  has  got  some  crotchet  or 
another  in  his  head,  but  what  the  Lord  only  knows.  To-day,  seein* 
he  was  considerable  up  in  the  stirrups,  I  axed  him  plain  what  it  ac- 
tilly  was  that  fetched  him  here.  He  turned  right  round  fierce  on 
me,  and  eyein*  me  all  over,  scorny  like,  he  said,  "  The  Great  West- 
erh,  Sam,  a  tight  good  vessel,  Sam — ^it  was  that  fetched  me  over ; 
and  now  you  have  got  your  answer,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  ad- 
vice : — Ax  me  no  questions,  and  I'll  tell  you  no  lies.*  And  he  put 
on  his  hat,  and  walked  out  of  the  room." 

"  Old  men,"  I  said,  "  love  to  be  mysterious.  He  probably  came 
over  to  see  you,  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  his  son  moving  in  a  society 
to  which  he  never  could  have  aspired  in  his  most  visionary  and  cas- 
tle-building days.  To  conceal  this  natural  feeling,  he  afiects  a  secret. 
Depend  upon  it,  it  is  merely  to  pique  your  curiosity." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  shaking  his  head,  incredu- 
lously ;  "  it  may  be  so,  but  he  ain't  a  man  to  pretend  nothin',  is 
father." 

In  order  to  change  the  conversation,  which  was  too  personal  to  be 
agreeable,  I  asked  him  what  that  story  of  wrastling  with  the  evil 
one  was,  to  which  his  father  hinted  in  his  letter. 

"  Oh,  wrastling  with  the  evil  one,"  says  he,  it  ain't  a  bad  story 
that ;  didn't  I  ever  tell  you  that  frolic  of  '  Barney  Oxman  and  the 
devil  ?' 

"  Well,  there  lived  an  old  woman  some  years  ago  at  Musquash 
Creek,  in  South  Carolina,  that  had  a  large  fortin'  and  an  only  dar- 
ter. She  was  a  widder,  a  miser,  and  a  dunker.  She  was  very  good, 
and  very  cross,  as  many  righteous  folks  are,  and  had  a  loose  tongue 
and  a  tight  puss  of  her  own.  All  the  men  that  looked  at  her  darter 
she  thought  had  an  eye  to  her  money,  and  she  warn't  far  out  o*  the 
way  nother,  for  it  seems  as  if  beauty  and  money  was  too  much  to  go 
together  in  a  general  way.  Rich  galls  and  handsome  galls  are  sel- 
dom good  for  nothin'  else  but  their  cash  or  their  looks.  Fears  and 
peaches  ain't  often  found  on  the  same  tree,  I  tell  you.    She  lived 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


S91 


all  alone  a'most,  with  nobody  but  her  darter  and  her  in  the  house, 
and  some  old  nigger  slaves,  in  a  hut  near  at  hand ;  and  she  seed  no 
company  she  could  help.  The  only  place  they  went  to,  in  a  gineral 
way,  was  meetin',  and  Jerusha  never  missed  that,  for  it  was  the  only 
chance  she  had  sometimes  to  get  out  alone. 

"  Barney  had  a  most  beautiful  voice,  and  always  went  there  too, 
to  sing  along  with  the  galls;  and  Barney,  hearin'  of  the  fortin 
of  Miss  Eels,  made  up  to  her  as  fierce  as  possible,  and  sung  so 
sweet,  and  talked  so  sweet,  and  kissed  so  sweet,  that  he  soon 
stood  number  one  with  the  heiress.  But  then  he  didn't  often  get  a 
chance  to  walk  home  with  her,  and  when  he  did,  she  darsn't  let  him 
come  in  for  fear  of  the  old  woman  ;  but  Barney  warn't  to  be  put  off 
that  way  long.  When  a  gall  is  in  one  pastur*,  and  a  lover  in 
another,  it's  a  high  fence  they  can't  get  over,  that's  a  fact. 

"  *  Tell  you  what,*  sais  Barney,  *  sit  up  alone  in  the  keepin'  room, 
Bushy  dear,  arter  old  mother  has  gone  to  bed,  put  out  the  light,  and 
I'll  slide  down  on  the  rope  from  the  trap-door  on  the  roof.  Tell  her 
you  are  exercised  in  your  mind,  and  want  to  meditate  alone,  as  the 
words  you  have  heard  this  day  have  reached  your  heart.* 

''Jerusha  was  frightened  to  death  a'most,  but  what  won't  a 
woman  do  when  a  lover  is  in  the  way.  So  that  very  night  she  told 
the  old  woman  she  was  exercised  in  her  mind,  and  would  wrastle 
with  the  spirit 

'"  Do,  dear,*  says  her  mother, '  and  you  won't  think  of  the  vanities 
of  dress,  and  idle  company  no  more.  You  see  how  I  have  given 
them  all  up  since  I  made  profession,  and  never  so  much  as  speak  of 
them  now,  no,  nor  even  thinks  of  'em.' 

"  Strange,  Squire,  ain't  it !  But  it's  much  easier  to  cheat  our- 
selves than  cheat  the  devil.  That  old  hag  was  too  stingy  to  buy 
dress,  but  persuaded  herself  it  was  bein'  too  good  to  wear  it. 

"  Well,  the  house  was  a  flat-roofed  house,  and  had  a  trap-door  in 
the  ceilin',  over  the  keepin'  room,  and  there  was  a  crane  on  the  roof, 
with  a  rope  to  it,  to  pull  up  things  to  spread  out  to  dry  there.  As 
soon  as  the  lights  were  all  out,  and  Barney  thought  the  old  woman 
was  asleep,  he  crawls  up  on  the  house,  opens  the  trap-door,  and  lets 
himself  down  by  the  rope,  r  'd  he  and  Jerusha  sat  down  into  the 
hearth  in  the  chimney  comer  courtin*,  or  as  they  call  it  in  them 
diggins  *  sniflBn'  ashes.*  When  daylight  began  to  show,  he  went  up 
the  rope  hand  over  hand,  hauled  it  up  arter  him,  closed  to  the  trap- 
door, and  made  himself  scarce.  Well,  all  this  went  on  as  slick  as 
could  be  for  awhile,  but  the  old  woman  seed  that  her  daughter  looked 
pale,  and  as  if  sho  hadn't  had  sleep  enough,  and  there  was  no  gettin* 
of  her  up  in  the  momin' ;  and  when  she  did  she  was  yawkin'  and 
gapin*,  and  so  dull  she  hadn*t  a  word  to  say. 

"  She  got  very  uneasy  about  it  at  last,  and  used  to  get  up  in  the 
night  sometimes  and  call  her  darter,  and  make  her  go  off  to  bed,  and 


292 


THB    ATTACH^;  OK, 


i  < 


!  " 


oncet  or  twice  came  plaguy  near  catching  of  them.  So  what  does 
liarnuy  do,  but  takes  two  niggers  with  Iiini  when  he  goes  urtcr  thut, 
and  leaves  them  on  the  root',  and  fastens  a  large  basket  to  the  rope, 
and  tells  them  if  they  feel  the  rope  pulled  to  hoist  away  for  dear  life, 
bu(^  not  to  speak  a  word  for  tlie  world.  Well,  one  night  the  old 
woman  came  to  the  door  as  usual,  and  sais,  *  Jerusha,'  suys  she, 
*  what  on  airth  ails  you,  to  make  you  sit  up  all  night  that  way  ;  do 
con)j}  to  bed,  that's  a  dear.*  '  Presently,  marm,'  says  she,  *  I  am 
wrastling  with  the  evil  one,  now ;  I'll  come  presently.'  '  Dear,  dear,' 
sais  she,  '  you  have  wrastled  long  enough  with  him  to  have  throwed 
Iiim  by  this  time.  If  you  can't  throw  him  now,  give  it  up,  or  he  may 
throw  you.'  Presently,  marm,'  sais  her  darter.  '  It's  always  the 
same  tune,'  sais  her  mottier,  going  off  grumbling  ; — '  it's  always  pre- 
sently, presently ; — what  has  got  into  the  gall  to  act  so  ?  Oli,  dear  I 
what  a  pertracted  time  she  has  on  it.  She  has  been  sorely  exerci- 
8ed,  poor  girl.* 

'*  As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  Barney  larfed  so  he  had  to  put  his 
arm  round  her  waist  to  steady  him  on  the  bench,  in  a  way  that  didn't 
look  onlike  rompin',  and  when  he  went  to  whisper  he  larfed  so  he 
did  nothin'  but  touch  her  cheek  with  his  lips,  in  a  way  that  looked 
plaguily  like  kissing,  and  felt  like  it  too,  and  she  pulled  to  get  away, 
and  they  had  a  most  reg'lar  wrastle  as  they  sat  on  the  bench,  when, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  over  went  the  bench,  and  down  went  both  on 
*em  on  the  floor  with  an  awful  smash,  and  in  bounced  the  old  woman 
— '  Which  is  uppermost  ?'  sais  she  ; — '  Have  you  throw'd  Satan,  or 
has  Satan  throw'd  you  ?  Speak,  Rushy  ;  speak  dear ;  who's 
throw'd  ?'  '  I  have  throw'd  him,'  sais  her  darter ;  '  and  I  hope  I 
have  broke  his  neck,  he  acted  so.'  *  Come  to  bed,  then,'  sais  she, 
'  darling,  and  be  thankful ;  say  a  prayer  backward,  and' — jist  then 
the  old  woman  was  seized  round  the  waist,  hoisted  through  the  trap- 
door ito  the  roof,  and  from  there  to  the  top  of  the  crane,  where 
t)ie  basket  stopped,  and  the  first  thing  she  know'd  she  was  away 
up  ever  so  far  in  the  air,  swingin*  in  a  large  basket,  and  no  soul 
near  her. 

"  Barney  and  his  niggers  cut  stick  double  quick,  crept  into  the 
bushes,  and  went  all  round  to  the  road  in  front  of  the  house,  just  as 
day  was  breakin*.  The  old  woman  -was  then  singin'  out  for  dear 
life,  kickin',  and  squealin',  and  cryin',  and  prayin',  all  in  one,  pro- 
perly frightened.  Down  runs  Barney  as  hard  as  he  could  clip, 
lookin'  as  innocent  as  if  he'd  never  heerd  nothin'  of  it,  and  pertendin' 
to  be  horrid  frightened,  ofit^rs  his  services,  climbs  up,  releases  the  old 
woman,  and  gets  blessed  and  thanked,  and  thanked  and  blessed  till 
he  was  tired  of  it.  '  Oh  !*  says  the  old  woman,  '  Mr.  Oxman,  the 
moment  Jeruslui  tlirowed  the  evil  one,  the  house  shook  like  an  airth- 
quake,  and  as  I  entered  the  room  he  seized  me,  put  me  into  a  bas- 


SAM  SLICK   IN  ENGLAND. 


293 


ket,  and  flew  off  with  me.  Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  his  fiery  eye« 
balls,  and  the  horrid  smell  of  brimstone  he  hud!' 

" '  Had  he  a  cloven  foot,  and  a  long  tail  ?'  sais  Barney.  *  I 
couldn't  see  in  the  dark,'  sais  she,  *  but  his  claws  were  awful  sharp ; 
oh,  how  they  dug  into  my  ribs  I  it  e'en  a'most  took  the  flesh  off'— oh, 
dear  I  Lord  have  mercy  on  us !  I  hope  he  is  laid  in  the  Red  Sea, 
now.'  'Tell  you  what  it  is,  aunty,'  sais  Barney,  'that's  an  awful 
Btory,  keep  it  secret  for  your  life ;  folks  might  say  the  house  was 
hamted — that  you  was  possessed,  and  that  Jerushy  was  in  league 
with  the  evil  one.  Don't  so  much  as  lisp  a  syllable  of  it  to  a  livin' 
sinner  breathin' ;  keep  the  secret  and  I  will  help  you.' 

"The  hint  took,  the  old  woman  had  no  wish  to  be  bum:,  or 
drown'd  for  a  witch,  and  the  moment  a  feller  has  a  woman's  secret  he 
is  that  woman's  master.  He  was  invited  there,  stayed  there,  and 
married  there ;  but  the  old  woman  never  know'd  who  the  '  evil  one* 
was,  and  always  thought  till  her  dyin'  day  it  was  old  Scratch  him- 
self. Arter  her  death  they  didn't  keep  it  secret  no  longer;  and 
many  a  good  lough  has  there  been  at  the  story  of  Barney  Oxmaa 
and  the  devil."  ,     ,        ..w- 


CHAPTER    LII. 
REPUDIATION.  ... 

During  the  last  week  I  went  into  Gloucestershire,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  visiting  an  old  and  much  valued  friend,  who  resides  near 
Cirencester.  In  the  car  there  were  two  gentlemen,  both  of  whom 
were  strangers  to  me,  but  we  soon  entered  into  conversation.  One 
of  them,  upon  ascertaining  where  I  was  from,  made  many  anxious 
inquiries  as  to  the  probability  of  the  Repudiating  States  ever  repay- 
ing the  money  that  had  been  lent  to  them  by  this  country.  He  said 
he  had  been  a  great  sufferer  himself,  but  what  he  regretted  much 
more  than  his  own  loss  was,  that  he  had  been  instrumental  in  indu- 
cing several  of  his  friends  to  invest  largely  in  that  sort  of  stock.  I 
told  him  I  was  unable  to  answer  the  question,  though  I  thought  the 
prospect  rather  gloomy ;  that  if,  however,  he  was  desirous  of  procu- 
ring  accurate  information,  I  could  easily  obtain  it  for  him,  as 
the  celebrated  Mr.  Slick,  and  a  very  distinguished  American  cler- 
gyman, were  now  in  London,  to  whom  I  would  apply  on  the 
subject. 

"  Mr.  Slick !"  he  said,  with  much  surprise,  "  is  there,  then,  really 
such  a  person  as   Sam  Slick  ?    I  always  thought  it  a  fictitious 


i 


H 


294 


THE  ATTAOHi) ;   OB, 


/ 


character,  although  the  man  is  drawn  so  naturally,  I  have  never 
been  able  to  divest  myself  of  som^  ddqbts  as  to  his  reality." 

"There  is,"  I  said,  "smcA  a  nUzuas  Mr.  Slick,  and  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Hopewell,  although  those  ai^npt' their  real  names ;  I  know  the 
persons  well.  The  author  has  <^rawn  them  from  life.  Moat  of  the 
anecdotes  in  those  books  called!  /  3^te  Clockmaker,'  and  '  Attache,' 
are  real  ones.  The  travelling^arts  of  them  are  fictitious,  and  intro- 
duced merely  as  threads  to  st^mg  l^e  conversations  on,  while  the 
reasoning  and  humorous  part^  ti(re .  only  such  as  both  those  persons 
are  daily  in  the  habit  of  utterinj^or  would  have  uttered  if  the  topics 
were  started  in  their  presence.  .,,J5i»<A  are  real  characters  ;  both  have 
sat  for  their  likeness,  and  thoi|^e.wiio  know  the  originals  as  I  do,  are 
struck  with  the  fidelity  of  the.^^ortraits. 

"  I  have  often  been  asked^tlJ^  question  before,"  I  said,  "  if  there 
really  was  such  a  man  as  ',^i|i„ Slick,'  and  the  author  assures  me 
that  that  circumstance,  whijihvihiiB  frequently  occurred  to  him  also, 
he  considers  the  greatest  cotpptiment  that  can  been  paid  to  his  work, 
and  that  it  is  one  of  the  rea^ps  why  there  have  been  so  many  con- 
tinuations of  it" 

He  then  asked  my  opinion  as  to  the  ballot ;  and  I  ridiculed  it  in 
no  measured  terms,  as  every  man  of  experience  does  on  both  sides 
of  the  water ;  expressed  a  hope  that  it  might  never  be  introduced 
into  England,  to  the  character  and  feelings  of  whose  inhabitants  it 
was  so  much  opposed ;  and  bestowed  on  its  abettors  in  this  country 
some  very  strong  epithets,  denoting  my  contempt,  both  for  their  prin- 
ciples and  their  understanding. 

At  Bath  he  left  us,  and  when  the  ti.'in  proceeded,  the  other  gen- 
tleman asked  me  if  I  knew  who  he  was  with  whom  I  had  been  con- 
versing, and  on  my  replying  in  the  negative,  he  said  he  took  it 
for  granted  I  did  not,  or  I  would  have  been  more  guarded  in 
my  language,  and  that  he  was  delighted  I  had  not  known  him, 
otherwise  he  would  have  lost  a  lesson  which  he  hoped  would  do 
him  good. 

"  That  man.  Sir,"  said  he,  "  is  one  of  the  great  advocates  of  the 
ballot  here ;  and  with  tlie  leaders  of  the  party,  has  invested  large 
sums  of  money  in  these  State  Stocks  of  which  he  was  inquiring. 
They  thought  their  money  must  be  safe  in  a  country  that  had  vote 
by  ballot — for  that  they  conceived  to  be  a  remedy  for  all  evils.  In 
my  opinion,  vote  by  ballot,  or  rather  universal  suffrage,  another  of 
his  favorite  hobbies,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  they  have  lost  it.  He 
is  one  of  those  persons  to  whom  you  are  indebted  for  the  Bepubli- 
canism  lately  introduced  into  your  Colonial  constitutions. 

"  At  the  time  Lord  Durham  visited  Canada,  the  United  States 
were  swarming  with  laborers,  cutting  canals,  constructing  railways, 
opening  coal  mines,  building  towns,  and  forming  roads.  In  every- 
thing was  life  and  motion ;  for  English  capital  was  flowing  rapidly 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


295 


thither  under  one  delusion  or  another  for  investment,  and  had 
given  an  unnatural  stimulus  to  every  branch  of  industry,  and  every 
scheme  of  speculation :  while  in  Canada,  which  was  in  a  healthy  and 
eound  condition,  all  these  things  were  in  no  greater  progress  than 
the  ordinary  wants  of  the  country  required,  or  the  ordinary  means 
of  the  people  could  afford. 

"  The  moment  these  visionary  and  insane  reformers  saw  this  con- 
trast, instead  of  deploring,  as  all  good  and  sensible  men  did,  a  deliri- 
ous excitement  that  could  not  but  soon  exhaust  itself,  and  produce  a 
long  period  of  inanition  and  weakness,  they  seized  upon  it  as  a 
proof  of  their  favorite  scheme-  *  Behold,'  they  said,  '  the  differ- 
ence between  a  country  that  has  universal  suffrage  and  vote  by 
ballot,  responsible  government  and  annual  elections,  and  a  British 
colony  with  a  cumbrous  £nglish  constitution.  One  is  all  life, 
the  other  all  torpor.  One  enjoys  a  rapid  circulation  that  reaches 
to  every  extremity,  the  other  suffers  under  a  feeble  pulsation  barely 
sufficient  to  support  life.  Read  in  this  a  lesson  on  free  institutions, 
and  doubt  who  can.' 

"  Having  talked  this  nonsense  for  a  long  time,  they  began  at  last, 
like  all  credulous  and  weak  people,  to  believe  it  themselves,  and 
invested  their  money,  for  which  they  had  no  other  but  their  favorite 
security,  vote  by  ballot,  How  much  is  the  security  worth  ? — It  is 
worth  a  thousand  arguments,  and  will  be  comprehended,  even  by 
those  who  cannot  appreciate  the  wit  or  feel  the  force  of  the  rea- 
soning of  Sydney  Smith.  But  I  believe  we  part  at  this  station. 
Good  bye !  Sir.  I  am  happy  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  making 
your  acquaintance.'* 

On  my  return  to  London,  I  took  occasion  one  evening,  when  Mr. 
Slick  and  Mr.  Hopewell  were  present,  to  relate  this  anecdote ;  and, 
turning  to  the  former,  asked  him  what  prospect  he  thought  there  was 
of  these  "  repudiated  debts"  being  paid.  To  my  surprise  he  did  not 
answer,  and  I  at  once  perceived  he  was  in  a  "  brown  study."  Though 
he  had  not  heard  what  I  said,  however,  he  found  there  was  a  cessa- 
tion of  talk,  and  turning  to  me  with  an  absent  air,  and  twirling  his 
moustache  between  his  forefinger  and  thumb,  he  said,  "  Can  you  tell 
me  what  a  (jager)  yaw-g-her  is  ?" 

I  said,  '•  It  is  a  German  word,  and  signifies  a  hunter.  In  the  revo- 
lutionary war  there  was  a  regiment  called  Jagers." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  it's  a  beautiful  dress  they  wear — very  becoming 
— very  rich.  Me  and  the  socdolager  dined  with  one  of  the  royal 
dukes  lately,  and  he  had  several  in  attendance  as  servants — devilish 
handsome  fellows  they  are  too— I'me  sorry  I  made  that  mistake, 
though — how  much  they  look  like  officers  and  gentlemen — cussed 
awkward  that  em-yaugher — eh ! — I  don't  know  whether  it's  worth 
larnin'  arter  all — hemT  and  was  aga^r.  abstracted. 


T 


^^ 


'  IB 


1 


i 


296 


THE  ATTACH^;  OB, 


Mr.  Hopewell  looked  at  him  with  great  concern,  drew  a  long  sigh, 
and  shook  his  head,  as  if  much  distressed  at  his  behavior. 

I  renewed  my  inquiry,  and  put  the  same  question  to  the  Minister. 

"  Squire,"  he  said,  mournfully,  "  that  is  a  painful  subject  either  to 
contemplate  or  to  talk  upon.  What  they  ought  to  do  as  honest  men, 
there  can  be  no  doubt ;  what  they  will  do  is  less  certain.  I  have 
read  the  correspondence  between  one  of  our  citizens  and  Sydney 
Smith.  Those  letters  of  Mr.  Smith,  or  rather  Smith  I  should  say — 
for  he  is  too  celebrated  a  man  for  the  appellation  of  "  Mr." — will  do 
more  good  in  America  than  a  fleet,  or  an  ambassador,  or  even  repri- 
sals. We  cannot  stand  ridicule — we  are  sensitively  alive  to  Euro- 
pean opinion,  and  these  letters  admit  of  but  one  answer — and  that  is, 
payment.  An  American  is  wrong  in  thinking  of  resorting  to  the 
pen.  Bepudiation  cannot  be  justified — no,  not  even  palliated.  It  is 
not  insolvency,  or  misfortune,  or  temporary  embarrassment,  that  is 
pleaded — it  is  a  refusal  to  pay,  and  a  refusal  to  pay  a  just  debt,  in 
public  or  private  life,  is — mince  it  as  you  will — dishonest.  If  the 
aged  and  infirm^  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  recover  their  just  debts, 
and  are  restored  once  more  to  the  comfort  they  have  lost,  they  must 
never  forget  they  are  indebted  to  Sydney  Smith  for  it. 

'<  It  is  the  first  plunge  that  shocks  the  nerves.  Men  who  have  so 
little  honor  as  to  repudiate  a  debt,  have  altogether  too  little  to  retract 
their  words  and  be  honest.  But  if  by  repudiating,  they  lose  more 
than  the  amount  they  withhold,  a  sordid  motive  may  induce  them  to 
do  that  which  a  sense  of  right  is  unable  to  effect.  Smith  has  put 
those  States  on  their  trial  in  Europe.  K  they  do  not  pay,  their  cre- 
dit and  their  character  are  gone  for  ever.  If  they  do  pay,  but  not 
till  then,  I  will  furnish  them  with  the  only  extenuation  their  conduct 
is  susceptible  of." 

"And  pray  what  is  that?"  I  said. 

He  replied,  "  I  would  reason  this  way ;  it  is  unfair  to  condemn  the 
American  people,  as  a  nation,  for  the  acts  of  a  few  States,  or  to  pun- 
ish a  whole  country  for  the  fraudulent  conduct  of  a  part  of  the  peo- 
ple. Every  honest  and  right-minded  man  in  our  country  deplores 
and  condemns  this  act,  as  much  as  every  person  of  the  same  descrip- 
tion does  in  Europe.  When  we  speak  of  American  or  English 
honor,  we  speak  of  the  same  thing ;  but  when  we  speak  of  the  honor 
of  the  American  people,  and  of  the  English  people,  we  speak  of  two 
different  things,  because  the  word  people  is  not  used  in  the  same 
sense ;  in  one  case  it  is  understood  in  a  restricted  form,  and  in  the 
other  in  its  mpst  extensive  signification.  When  we  speak  of  the 
honor  of  an  European,  we  don't  mean  the  honor  of  a  chimney- 
sweeper, or  street-scraper,  or  cabman,  or  coal-heaver,  or  hodman,  or 
such  persons  ;  but  of  those  that  are  responsible  for  the  acts  of  the 
people  as  a  government.  When  we  speak  of  the  honor  of  an  Amer- 
ican citizen,  we  speak  of  every  individual,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor, 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


297 


sigh, 


men. 


because,  as  all  have  the  franchise,  all  are  responsible  for  public  acts. 
Take  the  same  class  with  us  that  the  word  is  applied  to  in  England, 
and  if  the  honor  of  that  class  is  not  equal  to  its  corresponding  one  in 
Great  Britain,  I  think  I  may  saj  it  will  at  least  bear  a  very  favora- 
ble comparison  with  it.  The  question  of  payment  or  non-payment, 
in  the  repudiating  States,  has  been  put  to  every  male  in  those  States 
over  the  age  of  twenty-one  years,  and  repudiation  has  been  the 
result. 

"  Put  the  question  of  the  payment  of  the  national  debt  to  every 
adult  in  Great  Britain,  and  let  reformers  inflame  their  minds  and 
excite  their  cupidity,  as  they  always  do  on  such  occasions,  and  what 
would  be  the  result  ?  I  fear  the  holders  of  the  old  Three  per  Cents 
would  find  repudiation  a  word  as  well  understood  in  Europe  as  it  is 
in  America.  The  almost  universal  su£frage  in  Canada  is  the  cause 
of  the  ungenerous,  ungrateful,  and  insatiable  conduct  of  their  reform- 
ers :  all  good  men  there  acknowledge  their  degradation,  and  deplore 
it :  but,  alas  I  they  cannot  help  it.  Mankind  are  much  the  same 
everywhere;  the  masses  are  alike  at  least,  ignorant,  prejudiced, 
needy,  and  not  over  scrupulous.  It  is  our  misfortune  then,  rather 
than  our  fault ;  you  will  observe  I  am  not  justifying  repudiation,  far 
from  it ;  but  let  us  know  where  the  fault  lies,  before  we  inflict  cen- 
sure— It  lies  in  our  Institutions  and  not  in  our  people  ;  it  is  worth 
all  they  have  lost  in  England  to  know  this,  it  is  a  valuable  political 
lesson.  Let  them  beware  how  they  extend  their  franchise,  or  in- 
crease the  democratic  privileges. 

"  The  Reform  Bill  has  lowered  the  character  of  the  House  of 
Commons  in  exact  proportion  as  it  has  opened  it  to  the  representa- 
tives of  the  lower  orders.  Another  Reform  Bill  will  lower  the  char- 
acter of  the  people ;  it  will  then  only  require  universal  suffrage,  and 
vote  by  ballot,  to  precipitate  both  the  altar  and  the  throne  into  the 
cold  and  bottomless  abyss  of  democracy,  and  in  the  froth  and  worth- 
less scum  that  will  float  on  the  surface  will  be  seen  among  the  frag- 
ments of  their  institutions, '  English  repudiation.' " 

"  Give  me  your  hand.  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick :  "  Oh,  you  did 
that  beautiful !     Heavens  and  airth ! — " 

"  Stop,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  Swear  not  by  Heaven,  for  it 
is  his  throne,  nor  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his  footstool." 

"  Well,  then,  lawful  heart  I  land  of  Groshen  I  airth  and  seas  I  or, 
oh  Solomon  !  take  any  one  that  wiU  suit  you ;  I  wish  you  would  lay 
down  preachin'  and  take  to  politics,  as  Everitt  did." 

"  I  could  not  do  it,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  would ;  and  I  would  not  do 
,  it  if  I  could." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  had  never  taken  up  the  trade  of  preachinV 

"  Trade,  Sam  I  do  you  call  it  a  trade  ?" 

"Well,  art." 

'*  Do  you  call  it  an  art  ?"  >  •  ,         -.• 

13* 


SB 


298 


THE  ATTACH^ ;  OB, 


«  Well,  call  it  what  you  like,  I  wish  you  had  never  been  bred  a 
preacher." 

**  I  have  no  such  wish.  I  do  not,  at  the  close  of  my  life,  desire  to 
exclaim  with  Wolsey, '  Had  I  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal  I 
have  served  my  king,  he  would  not  now  have  deserted  me  in  my 
old  age.'" 

"  You  hante  got  a  king,  and  nobody  sarves  a  president,  for  he  is 
nothin'  but  one  of  us,  so  you  needn't  be  skeered,  but  I  do  wish  you'd 
a-taken  to  politics.  Good  gracious,  why  can't  Stephenson  or  Everitt 
talk  as  you  do ;  why  don't  they  put  the  nail  in  the  right  place,  and 
strike  it  right  straight  on  the  head  ?  The  way  you  put  that  repudi- 
ation is  jist  the  identical  thing.  Bowin'  gallus  polite,  and  sayin' — 
*  Debt  is  all  right,  you  ought  to  have  it — a  high  tone  of  feelin' — 
very  sorry — force  of  circumstances — ^political  institutions — universal 
suffrage — happy  country.  England — national  honor  all  in  my  eye — 
good  bye  V  How  much  better  that  is,  than  justifyin',  or  buUyin'  or 
sayin'  they  are  just  as  bad  themselves,  and  only  make  matters  wus ; 
I  call  that  now  true  policy." 

"If  you  call  that  true  policy,  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  replied; 
"  because  it  is  evident  you  are  ignorant  of  a  very  important  truth." 

«  What  is  that.  Minister  ?" 

"  *  That  honesty  is  always  the  best  policy!  Had  this  great  moral 
lesson  been  more  universally  known,  you  never  would  have  heard 
of  *  Bepudiaiion* " 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

THE    BACKLOG,    OR    COOLNES 

As  we  sat  chatting  together  late  last  night,  the  danger  of  a  fire  at 
sea  was  talked  of,  the  loss  of  the  *  Kent'  Ladiaman,  and  the  remark- 
able coolness  of  Colonel  M'Grigor  on  that  occasion  was  discussed, 
and  various  anecdotes  related  of  calmness,  presence  of  mind,  and 
coolness,  under  every  possible  form  of  peril. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  embellishment  in  all  these  stories,"  said 
Mr.  Slick.  "  There  is  always  a  fact  to  build  a  story  on,  or  a  peg  to 
hang  it  on,  and  this  makes  it  probable ;  so  that  the  story  and  its  fic- 
tions get  so  mixed  up,  you  can't  tell  at  last  what  is  truth  and  what 
is  fancy.  A  good  story  is  never  spiled  in  the  tellin',  except  by  a 
crittur  that  don't  know  how  to  tell  it.  Battles,  shipwrecks,  highway 
robberies,  blowed-up  steamers,  vessels  a  fire,  and  so  on,  lay  a  foun- 
dation as  facts.  Some  people  are  saved — that's  another  fact  to  build 
on ; — some  captain,  or  passenger,  or  woman  hante  fainted,  and  that's 


I;! 


SAM  SLIOK  IN  ENGLAND. 


299 


enough  to  make  a  grand  affair  of  it  You  can't  hardly  believe  none 
of  them,  that's  the  truth.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  a  story  that  happen'd 
in  a  farm-house  near  to  father's  to  Slickville,  jist  a  common  scene 
of  common  life,  and  no  romance  about  it,  that  does  jist  go  for  to  show 
what  I  call  coolness : 

**  Our  nearest  neighbor  was  Squire  Peleg  Sanford ;  well,  the  old 
Squire  and  all  his  £itmily  was  all  of  them  the  most  awful  passionate 
folks  that  ever  lived,  when  they  chose,  and  then  they  could  keep  in 
their  temper,  and  be  as  cool  at  other  times  as  cucumbers.  One 
night,  old  uuch)  Peleg,  as  he  was  called,  told  his  son  Gucom,  a  boy 
of  fourteen  years  old,  to  go  and  bring  in  a  backlog  for  the  fire.  A 
backlog,  you  know.  Squire,  in  a  wood  fire,  is  always  the  biggest 
stick  that  one  can  find  or  carry.  It  takes  a  stout  junk  of  a  boy  to 
lift  one. 

^  Well,  as  soon  as  Gucom  goes  to  fetch  the  log,  the  old  Squire 
drags  forward  the  coals,  and  fixes  the  fire  so  as  to  leave  a  bed  for  it, 
and  stands  bj  ready  to  fit  it  into  its  place.  Presently  in  comes  Gu- 
com with  a  Uttle  cat  stick,  no  bigger  than  his  leg,  and  throws  it  on. 
Uncle  Peleg  got  so  mad,  he  never  said  a  word,  but  just  seized  his 
ridin'  whip,  and  gave  him  a'most  an  awful  wippin'.  He  tanned  his 
hide  properly  for  him,  you  may  depend.  ^  Now,'  said  he,  ^  go.  Sir, 
and  bring  in  a  proper  backlog.' 

*^  Gucom  was  clear  ^it  as  well  as  the  old  man,  for  he  was  a  chip 
of  the  old  block,  and  no  mistake ;  so,  out  he  goes  without  so  much  as 
sayin'  a  word,  but  instead  of  goin'  to  the  wood  pile,  he  walks  off 
altogether,  and  staid  away  eight  years,  till  he  was  one-and-twenty, 
and  his  own  master.  Well,  as  soon  as  he  was  a  man  grown,  and 
lawfully  on  his  own  hook,  he  took  it  into  his  head  one  day  he'd  go 
to  home  and  see  his  old  father  and  mother  agin,  and  show  them  he 
was  alive  and  kickin',  for  they  didn't  know  whether  he  was  dead  or 
Dot,  never  havin'  heard  of,  or  from  him  one  blessed  word  all  that 
time.  When  he  arrived  to  the  old  house,  daylight  was  down,  and 
lights  lit,  and  as  he  passed  the  keepin'-room  winder,  he  looked  in, 
and  there  was  old  Squire  sittin'  in  the  same  chair  he  was  eight  years 
afore,  when  he  ordered  in  the  backlog,  and  gave  him  such  an  on- 
marciful  wippin'.  So,  what  does  Gucom  do,  but  stops  at  the  wood 
pile,  and  picks  up  a  most  hugaceous  log  (for  he  had  grow'd  to  be 
a'most  a  thunderin'  big  feller  then),  and,  openin'  the  door,  he  marches 
in,  and  lays  it  down  on  the  hearth,  and  then  lookin'  up,  sais  he, 
*  Father,  I've  brought  you  in  the  backlog.' 

"  Uncle  Peleg  was  struck  up  all  of  a  heap ;  he  couldn't  believe 
his  eyes,  that  that  great  six-footer  was  the  boy  he  had  cow-hided, 
and  he  couldn't  believe  his  ears  when  he  heard  him  call  him  father ; 
a  man  from  the  grave  wouldn't  have  surprised  bim  more — ^he  was 
quite  on&kilized,  and  be-dumbed  for  a  minute.  But  he  came  top 
right  off,  and  was  iced  down  to  freezin'  point  in  no  time. 


f 


■i 


800 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


' ' "  *  What  did  you  say  ?'  sais  he. 

"  '  That  I  have  brought  you  in  the  backlog,  Sir,  you  sent  me  out 
for."  ; 

"  *  Well,  then,  you've  been  a  d 'd  long  time  a-fetchin'  it,'  sais 

he ;  '  that's  all  I  can  say.  Draw  the  coals  forrard,  put  it  on,  and 
then  go  to  bed.' 

"  Now,  that's  a  fact.  Squire ;  I  know'd  the  parties  myself — and 
that's  what  1  do  call  coolness — ^and  no  mistake  f 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

MARRIAGE. 

9' 

To-DAT,  as  we  passed  St.  James's  church,  we  found  the  streets  in 
the  neighborhood  almost  obstructed  by  an  immense  concourse  of 
fashionable  carriages.  "  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  here  is  a  splice  in 
high  life  to-day.  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  scrouge  in  and  see  the 
gall.  Them  nobility  women  are  so  horrid  hansuin,  they  take  the 
shine  off  all  creation  a'most.  I'll  bet  a  goose  and  trimmins  she  looks 
like  an  angel,  poor  thing!  Fd  like  to  see  her,  and  somehow  I 
wouldn't  like  to  see  her  nother.  I  like  to  look  at  beauty  always,  my 
heart  yarns  towards  it ;  and  I  do  love  women,  the  dear  critturs,  that's 
a  fact.  There  is  no  musick  to  my  ear  Uke  the  rustlin'  of  petticoats; 
but  then  I  pity  one  o'  these  high  bred  galls,  that's  made  a  show  of 
that  way,  and  decked  out  in  first  chop  style,  for  all  the  world  to 
stare  at  afore  she  is  offered  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  gild  some  old  coronet 
with  her  money,  or  enlarge  some  landed  estate  by  addin'  her'n  on 
to  it.  Half  the  time  it  ain't  the  joinin'  of  two  hearts,  but  the  joinin* 
of  two  pusses,  and  a  wife  is  chose  like  a  boss,  not  for  her  looks,  but 
for  what  she  will  fetch.  It's  the  greatest  wwider  in  the  world  them 
kind  o'  marriages  turn  out  as  well  as  they  do,  all  thin's  considered. 
I  can't  account  for  it  no  way  but  one,  and  that  is,  that  love  that 
grows  up  slow  will  last  longer  than  love  that's  bom  full  grown.  The 
fust  is  love,  the  last  is  passion.     Fashion  rules  all  here. 

"  These  Londoners  are  about  as  consaited  folks  of  their  own  ways 
as  you'll  find  onder  the  sun  a'most.  They  are  always  a-jawin*  about 
good  taste,  and  bad  taste,  and  correct  taste,  and  all  that  sort  o'  thin'. 
Fellers  that  eat  and  drink  so  like  the  devil  as  they  do,  it's  no  wonder 
that  word  '  taste '  is  for  everlastiu'  in  their  mouth.  Now,  to  my 
mind,  atween  you  and  me  and  the  post,  for  I  darn't  say  so  here  to 
company,  they'd  stare  so  if  I  did,  but  atween  you  and  me,  I  don't 
think  leadin'  a  gall  out  to  a  church  chock  full  of  company,  to  be 


SAM  SLICE  IN   ENGLAND. 


801 


stared  at,  like  a  prize  ox,  by  all  the  young  bucks  and  the  old  does 
about  town,  to  criticise,  satirize,  and  jokerise  on,  or  make  prophecies 
on,  a-pityin'  the  poor  feller  that's  caught  such  an  almighty  tartar,  or 
a-f'eelin'  for  the  poor  gall  that's  got  such  an  awful  dissipated  feller; 
or  rakin'  up  old  stories  to  new-frame  'em  as  pictures  to  amuse  folks 
with,  (for  envy  of  a  good  match  always  gets  to  pityin'  *em,  as  if  it 
liked  'em,  and  was  sorry  for  'em,)  and  then  to  lead  her  off  to  a  de- 
juney  a  la  fussier ;  to  hear  her  health  drunk  in  wine,  and  to  hear  a 
whisper  atween  a  man-woman  and  a  woman-man,  not  intended  to  be 
heerd,  except  on  purpose ;  and  then  posted  off  to  some  old  mansion 
or  another  in  the  country^  and  all  along  the  road  to  be  the  standin' 
joke  of  post-boys,  footmen,  and  ladies'  maids,  and  all  them  kind  o' 
cattle ;  and  then  to  be  yoked  together  alone  with  her  lover  in  that 
horrid  large,  lonely,  dismal  house,  shut  up  by  rain  all  the  time,  and 
imprisoned  long  enough  to  git  shockin'  tired  of  each  other ;  and  then 
to  read  her  fate  on  the  wall  in  portraits  of  a  long  line  of  ancestral 
brides,-  who  came  there  bloomin',  and  gay,  and  young  like  her,  and 
in  a  little  while  grew  fat  and  old,  or  skinny  and  thin,  or  deaf,  or 
blind,  (women  never  get  dumb,)  and  who  sickened  and  pined  and 
died,  and  went  the  way  of  all  flesh ;  and  she  shudders  all  over,  when 
she  thinks  in  a  few  years  some  other  bride  will  look  at  her  pictur', 
and  say,  'What  a  queer  looking  woman  that  is  I  how  unbecomin'  her 
hair  is  done  up !'  and  then,  pi'ntin'  to  her  bustle,  say  to  her  brides- 
maid in  a  whisper,  with  a  scomy  look, '  Do  you  suppose  that  moun- 
tain was  a  bustle,  or  was  she  a  Hottentot  Venus,  grandpa'  married?' 
and  bridesmaid  will  say, '  Dreadful  looking  woman  Land  she  squints, 
too,  I  think ;'  then  to  come  'back  to  town  to  run  into  t'other  extreme, 
and  never  to  be  together  agin,  but  always  in  company,  havin'  a  great 
horror  of  that  long,  lone,  tiresome  honey-moon  month  in  the  country; 
— all  this  ain't  to  my  mind,  now,  jist  the  best  taste  in  the  world  no- 
ther.  I  don't  know  what  you  may  think,  but  that's  my  humble 
opinion,  now  that's  a  fact.  We  make  everlastin*  short  work  of  it 
sometimes.  It  reminds  me  of  old  uncle  Peleg  I  was  a-tellin'  you  of 
last  night,  who  acted  so  cool  about  the  backlog.  He  was  a  magis- 
trate to  Slickville,  was  Squire  Peleg ;  and  by  our  law  Justices  of  the 
Peace  can  splice  folks  as  well  as  Ministers  can.  So,  one  day  Slocum 
Outhouse  called  there  to  the  Squire's  with  Deliverance  Cook.  They 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  Squire,  for  they  was  neighbors  of  his, 
but  they  was  awful  afeerd  of  him,  he  was  such  a  crotchical,  snappish, 
odd,  old  feller.  So,  after  they  sot  down  in  the  room,  old  Peleg  sais, 
'  You  must  excuse  my  talkin'  to-day,  friend  Outhouse,  for,'  sais  he, 
'  Pm  so  almighty  busy  a-writin' ;  but  the  women-folks  will  be  in 
bime  bye ;  the'r  jist  gone  to  meetin'.'  '  Well,  sais  Slocum,  ♦  we 
won't  detain  you  a  minit.  Squire ;  me  and  Deliverance  come  to  make 
declaration  of  marriage,  and  have  it  registered.'  '  Oh !  goin'  to  be 
married,'  sais  he ;  '  eh  ?  that's  right,  marry  in  haste  and  repent  at 


i 


802 


THE  ATTACH^  ;  OB, 


leisure.  Very  fond  of  each  other  now ;  quarrel  like  the  devil  by  and 
bye.  Hem !  what  cussed  fools  some  folks  is ;'  and  he  never  sais 
another  word,  but  wrote  and  wrote  on,  and  never  looked  up,  and 
there  they  sot  and  sot,  Slocum  and  poor  Deliverance,  a-lookin'  like 
a  pair  of  fools ;  they  know'd  they  couldn't  move  him  to  go  one  inch 
faster  than  he  chose,  and  that  he  would  have  his  own  way  at  any 
rate ;  so,  they  Iqpked  at  each  other  and  shook  their  heads,  and  then 
looked  down  and  played  with  their  thumbs,  and  then  they  scratched 
their  pates,  and  put  one  leg  over  t'other,  and  then  shifted  it  back 
agin,  and  then  they  looked  out  o'  the  winder,  and  counted  all  the 
poles  in  the  fence,  and  all  the  hens  in  the  yard,  and  watched  a  man 
a-plougliin'  in  a  field,  goin'  first  up  and 'then  down  the  lidge;  then 
Slocum  coughed,  and  then  Deliverance  coughed,  so  as  to  attract  old 
Squire's  attention,  and  make  him  'tend  to  their  business ;  but  no,  no- 
thing would  do :  he  wrote,  and  he  wrote,  and  he  wrote,  and  he  never 
stopped,  nor  looked  up,  nor  looked  round,  nor  said  a  word.  Then 
Deliverance  looked  over  at  the  Squire,  made  faces,  and  nodded  and 
motioned  to  Outhouse  to  go  to  him,  but  he  frowned  and  shook  his 
head,  as  much  as  to  say,  '1  darsn't  do  it,  dear,  I  wish  you  would.' 

"  At  last,  she  got  narvous,  and  began  to  cry  out  of  clear  sheer 
spite,  for  she  was  good  stuff,  rael  steel,  put  an  edge  on  a  knife  a'most ; 
and  that  got  Slocum's  dander  up, — so  he  ups  off  of  his  seat,  and 
spunks  up  to  the  old  Squire,  and  sais  he,  *  Squire,  tell  you  what,  we 
came  here  to  get  married ;  if  you  are  a-goin'  for  to  do  the  job  well 
and  good,  if  you  ain't,  say  so,  and  we  will  go  to  some  one  else.' 
<  What  job,'  sais  old  Pelcg,  a-lookin'  up  as  innocent  as  you  please. 

*  Why,  niarry  us,'  sais  Slocum.  •  Marry  you !'  sais  he,  *  why  d — ^n 
you,  you  was  married  an  hour  and  a-half  ago,  man.  What  are  you 
a-talkin'  about?  I  thought  you  was  a-goin'  to  spen^the  night  here, 
or  else  had  repented  of  your  bargain ;'  and  he  sot  back  in  his  chair, 
and  larfed  ready  to  kill  himself.  '  What  the  devil  have  you  been 
waitin'  for  all  this  time  ?'  sais  he ;  '  don't  you  know  that  makin'  de- 
claration, as  you  did,  is  all  that's  required  ? — but  come,  let's  take  a 
glass  of  grog.  Here's  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  SlocMm,  or  Slow-go, 
as  you  ought  to  be  called,  and  the  same  to  you.  Deliverance.  What 
a  nice  'name  you've  got,  too,  for  a  bride  ;*  and  he  larfed  agin  till 
they  both  joined  in  it,  and  larfed,  too,  like  anythin' ;  for  larfin'  is 
catchin',  you  can't  help  it  sometimes,  even  suppose  you  are  vexed. 

" '  Yes,'  sais  he, '  long  life  and  as  much  happiness  to  you  both  as 
you  can  cleverly  digest ;'  and  then  he  shook  hands  with  the  bride, 
and  whispered  to  her,  and  she  colored  up,  and  looked  horrid  pleased, 
and  sais, '  Now,  Squire,  positively,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed,  that's 
a  fact' 

•  «  Now,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "a  feller  that  ain't  a  fool,  like  Slocum, 
and  don't  know  when  he  is  married,  can  get  the  knot  tied  without 
fuss  or  loss  of  time  with  us,  can't  he  ? — ^Yes,  I  don't  like  a  show 


SAM  8LI0K  IK  ENGLAND. 


I 


«08 


like  that 


affair  like  this.    To  mj  mind,  a  quiet,  private  marriage, 
Uncle  Peleg's  is  jist  about  the  right  thing."/ 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell, "  I  am  surprised  to  hear  jou  talk  that 
way.  As  to  the  preference  of  a  quiet  marriage  over  one  of  these 
public  displays,  I  quite  agree  with  you.  But  you  are  under  a  great 
mistake  in  supposing  that  you  dare  not  express  that  opinion  in  Eng- 
land, for  every  right-minded  person  here  will  agree  with  you.  Any 
opinion  that  cannot  be  expressed  here  must  be  a  wrong  one,  indeed  ; 
me  judgmenty  the  feeling,  and  the  Xaste  of  society  is  so  good  I  But 
Btill  the  ceremony  should  always  be  performed  in  the  church,  and  as 
I  was  saying,  I'm  surprised  to  hear  you  approve  of  such  an  affair  as 
that  at  Squire  Peleg's  office.  Making  marriage  a  mere  contract,  to 
be  executed  like  any  other  secular  obligation,  before  the  civil  magis- 
trate, is  one  of  the  most  ingenious  contrivances  of  the  devil  to  loosen 
jioral  obligations  that  I  know  of  at  all. 

«  When  I  tell  you  the  Whigs  were  great  advocates  for  it  here,  I 
am  sure  I  need  not  give  you  its  character  in  stronger  language. 
Their  advent  to  office  depended  on  all  those  opposed  to  the  church ; 
everything,  therefore,  that  weakened  its  influence  or  loosened  its  con- 
nection with  the  State,  was  sure  to  obtain  their  strenuous  assistance. 
Transferring  this  ceremony  from  the  church  to  the  secular  power 
was  one  of  their  popular  kites ;  and  to  show  you  how  little  it  was  re- 
quired by  those  who  demanded  it,  or  how  little  it  was  valued  when 
obtained,  except  in  a  political  point  of  view,  I  need  only  observe  that 
the  number  of  magisterial  marriages  is  on  the  decrease  in  England, 
and  not  on  the  increase* 

"The  women  of  England,  much  to  theur  honor,  object  to  this 
mode  of  marriage.  Intending  to  fulfil  their  own  obligations,  and 
feeling  an  awful  responsibility,  they  desire  to  register  them  at  the 
altar,  and  to  implore  the  blessing  of  the  Church,  on  the  new  career 
of  life  into  which  they  are  about  to  enter,  and  at  the  same  time  they 
indulge  the  rational  and  well-founded  hope  that  the  vows  so  solemnly 
and  publicly  made  to  them  before  God  and  man  will  be  more 
strictly  observed,  in  proportion  as  they  are  more  deeply  considered, 
and  more  solemnly  proclaimed.  There  are  not  many  things  that 
suggest  more  important  considerations  than  that  connection  which  is 
so  lightly  talked  of,  so  inconsiderately  entered  into,  and  so  little  ap- 
preciated as — ^Marriage." 


I 


804 


THB  ATTACH^;  OR, 


I  I 


CHAPTER    LV. 


PAYING    AND    RETURNING    VISITS. 


"  "Which  way  are  you  a-goin',  Squire  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick,  who  saw 
me  preparing  to  go  out  this  morning. 

"  I  am  going/'  I  said,  "  to  call  on  an  old  schoolfellow  that  is  now 
living  in  London.  I  have  not  seen  him  since  we  sat  on  the  same 
benches  at  school,  and  have  been  unable  to  ascertain  his  address  un- 
til this  moment." 

"  Could  he  have  ascertained  your  address?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  easily;  all  the  Nova  Scotians  in  town  know  it;  most  of 
the  Canada  merchants,  and  a  very  large  circle  of  acquaintance. 
Many  others  who  did  not  know  so  well  where  to  inquire  as  he  does, 
have  found  it." 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  replied,  "  how  long  have  we  been  here  ? — Four 
months. — Let  him  be,  then ;  he  ain't  worth  knowin',  that  feller — he 
hante  a  heart  as  big  as  a  pea.  Oh !  Squire,  you  don't  know  'cause 
you  hante  travelled  none ;  but  I  do,  'cause  I've  been  everywhere 
a'most,  and  I'll  tell  you  somethin'  you  hante  experienced  yet.  Ain't 
there  a  good  many  folks  to  Hahfax,  whose  faces  you  know,  but 
whose  names  you  don't,  and  others  whos^  mugs  and  names  you 
know,  but  you  don't  parsonally  know  them  ?— certainly.  Well, 
then,  s'pose  you  are  in  London,  or^aris,  or  Canton,  or  Petersburg, 
and  you  suddenly  come  across  one  o'  these  critturs,  that  you  pass 
every  day  without  lookin'  at  or  thinkin'  of,  nor  knowin'  or  carin'  to 
know  when  you  are  to  home — What's  the  first  thing  both  of  you  do, 
do  as  you  suppose  ?  Why  run  right  up  to  each  other,  out  paws,  and 
shake  hands,  till  all  is  blue  again.  Both  of  you  ax  a  bushel  of  ques- 
tions, and  those  questions  all  lead  one  way — to  Nova  Scotia,  to  Hali- 
fax, to  the  road  to  Windsor ; — then  you  try  to  stay  together,  or 
travel  together;  and  if  either  of  you  get  sick,  tend  each  other;  or  get 
into  scrapes,  fight  for  each  other.  Why  ?  because  you  are  country- 
men—countymen — ^townsmen — ^because  you  see  home  wrote  in  each 
other's  face  as  plain  as  anything ;  because  each  of  you  is  in  t'other's 
eyes  a  part  of  that  home,  a  part  that  when  you  are  in  your  own 
country  you  don't  vally  much ;  because  you  have  both  nearer  and 
dearer  parts,  but  still  you  have  a  kind  of  nateral  attraction  to  each 
other,  as  a  piece  of  home ;  and  then  that  awakens  all  the  kindly  feel- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


805 


who  saw 

lat  is  now 

the  same 

Idress  un- 


most  of 
laintance. 
}  he  does, 

!  ? — Four 
isUer — he 
)w  'cause 
eiywhere 
et.    Ain't 
enow,  but 
lines  you 
r.    WeU, 
tersburg, 
you  pass 
carin*  to 
f  you  do, 
>aws,  and 
of  ques- 
toHali- 
Jther,  or 
r;  or  get 
country- 
!  in  each 
t'other's 
aur  own 
irer  and 
to  each 
dly  feel- 


in's  of  the  heart,  and  makes  it  as  sensitive  and  tender  as  a  skinned 
eel.  But,  oh,  dear  me !  if  this  piece  of  home  happens  to  be  an  old 
schoolfeller,  don't  it  awaken  idees,  not  only  of  home,  but  idces  long 
since  forgotten  of  old  time  ?  ^Memory  acts  on  thought  like  sudden 
heat  on  a  dormant  fly^  it  wakes  it  from  the  dead,  puts  new  life  into  tV, 
and  it  stretches  out  its  wings  and  buzzes  round  as  if  it  had  never  slept. 
When  you  see  him,  don't  the  old  schoolmaster  rise  up  before  you  as 
nateral  as  if  it  was  only  yesterday  ?  and  the  school-room,  and  the 
noisy,  larkin',  happy  holidays,  and  you  boys  let  out,  racin,  yelpin*, 
hoUerin',  and  whoopin',  like  mad,  with  pleasure ;  and  the  play- 
ground, and  the  game  at  bass  in  the  fields,  or  hurly  on  the  long  pond 
on  the  ice,  or  campin'  out  a-night  at  Chester  lakes  to  fish^-catchin' 
no  trout,  gettin'  wet  thro'  and  thro'  with  rain  like  a  drown'd  rat — 
eat  up  body  and  bones  by  black  flies  and  muschetoes,  retumin'  tired 
to  death,  and  callin'  it  a  party  of  pleasure ;  or  riggin'  out  in  pumps 
for  dancin'  schools,  and  the  little  fust  loves  for  the  pretty  little  galls 
there,  when  the  heart  was  romantic  and  looked  away  ahead  into  an 
avenue  of  years,  and  seed  you  and  your  little  tiny  partner  at  the 
head  of  it,  driven  in  a  tandem  sleigh  of  your  own,  and  a  grand  house 
to  live  iUj,  and  she  your  partner  through  life ;  or  else  you  in  the 
grove  back  o'  the  school,  away  up  in  a  beech  tree,  settin'  straddle- 
legged  on  a  limb  with  a  jack-knife  in  your  hand,  cuttin'  into  it  the 
two  fust  letters  of  her  name — F.  L.,  fust  love ;  never  dreamin'  the 
bark  would  grow  over  them  in  time  on  the  tree,  and  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil,  rub  them  out  of  the  heart  in  arter  years  also. 
Then  comes  robbin'  orchards  and  fetchin'  home  nasty  puckery  apples 
to  eat,  as  sour  as  Greek,  that  stealin'  made  sweet ;  or  gettin'  out  o' 
winders  at  night,  goin'  down  to  old  Ross's,  orderin'  a  supper,  and 

pocketin'  your fust  whole  bottle  of  wine.     Oh  1  that  fust  whole 

bottle  christened  the  man,  and  you  woke  up  sober  next  momin',  and 
got  the  fuat;  taste  o'  the  world — sour  in  the  mouth — sour  in  the 
stomach — sour  in  the  temper,  and  sour  all  over ; — ^yes,  that's  the  world. 
Oh,  Lord  I  don't  them  and  a  thousand  more  things  rush  right  into 
your  mind,  like  a  crowd  into  a  theatre  seein'  which  can  get  in  fust. 
Don't  it  carry  you  back  afore  sad  realities,  blasted  hopes,  and  false 
hearts  had  chilled  your  aflections.   *^ 

"  Oh,  dear!  you  don't  know,  'cause  in  ox)urse  youhante  travelled 
none,  and  can't  know,  but  I  do.  Lord  !  meetia'  a  crittur  away  from 
home  that  way,  has^actilly  made  me  pipe  my  eye  afore  now.  Now 
a  feller  that  don't  feel  this,  that  was  to  school  with  you,  and  don't 
yam  towards  you,  that  is  a-sojoumin'  here  and  knows  you  are  here, 
and  don't  run  full  clip  to  you  and  say,  *  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  Come  and  see  me  as  often  as  you  can  ;^-can't  I  do  anything 
for  you,  as  I  know  town  better  nor  you  do  ?  Is  there  anything  I  can 
ehow  you  ?  Oh !  how  glad  I've  been  to  see  your  name  in  the  papers 
— ^to  hear  folks  praise  your  books — to  find  you've  got  on  in  the 


806 


THE  ATTACH^;  OB, 


t     I 


world.  Well,  Fm  glad  of  it  for  your  sake — for  the  sake  of  the 
school  and  old  Nova  Scotia,  and  then  how's  so  and  so  ?  Does  A 
drink  as  hard  as  ever ;  is  B  as  busy  a-skinnin'  a  sixpence  ?  and  C  as 
fond  of  horse  racing  ?  They  tell  me  D  is  the  most  distinguished  man 
in  New  Brunswick,  and  so  on^-eh  ?  What  are  you  a-doin'  to-day, 
come  and  dine  with  me  ?— engaged ;  tc-morrow  ?— engaged ;  next 
day  ? — engaged.  Well,  name  a  day — engaged  every  day  for  a  fort- 
night. The  devil  you  are ; — at  this  rate  I  shan't  see  you  at  all. 
Well,  mind  you  are  engaged  to  me  for  your  Sunday  dinner  every 
Sunday  you  are  in  town,  and  as  much  oflener  as  you  can.  I'll  drop 
in  every  mornin'  as  I  go  to  my  office  about  breakfast  time  and  give 
you  a  hiul — I  have  an  appointment  now.  Good  bye  I  old  feller,  dev- 
lish  glad  to  see  you ;'  and  then  returnin'  afore  he  gets  to  the  door, 
and  pattin'  you  on  the  shoulders,  affectionate  like,  he'd  say  with  a 
grave  face — "  Good  heavens  I  how  many  sad  recollections  you  call 
up  1  How  many  of  our  old  schoolfellows  are  called  to  their  long  ac- 
count !— eh  ?  Well,  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you  agin  safe  and  sound, 
wind  and  limb,  at  any  rate — good  bye !' 

**  Yes,  Squire,  every  pleasure  has  its  pain,  for  pain  and  pleasure 
are  like  the  Siamese  twins.  They  have  a  nateral  cord  of  union, 
and  are  inseparable.  Fain  is  a  leetle,  jist  a  leetle  smaller  than 
t'other,  is  more  narvous,  and,  in  course,  twice  as  sen:'itive;  you  can't 
feel  pleasure  without  feelin'  pain,  but  that  ain't  the  worst  of  it 
nother ;  for  git  on  t'other  side  of  'em,  and  you'll  find  you  can  often 
feel  pain  without  as  much  as  touching  pleasure  with  the  tip  eend  of 
your  finger.  Yes,  the  pleasure  of  seein'  you  brings  up  to  that  crit- 
tur  that  pang  of  pain  that  shoots  through  the  heart.  <  How  many 
of  our  old  schoolfellers  are  called  to  their  long  accounts  I' 

"  How  nateral  that  was !  for.  Squire,  of  all  that  we  knew  when 
young,  how  few  are  really  left  to  us  !  the  sea  has  swallowed  some, 
and  the  grave  has  closed  over  others ;  the  battle-field  has  had  its 
fihare,  and  disease  has  marked  out  them  that  is  to  follow. 

^  Ah  me !  we  remember  with  pleasure,  we  think  with  pain.  But  this 
crittur — ^heavens  and  airth !  what's  the  sea,  the  grave,  the  battle- 
field, or  disease,  in  comparison  of  him  ?  Them's  nateral  things ;  but 
here's  a  feller  without  a  heart ;  it  has  been  starved  to  death  by  the 
neglect  of  the  affections. 

^<  Oh !  Squire,  if  you'd  a-travelled  alone  in  distant  countries  as  I 
have,  you'd  a-knowed  it's  a  great  relief  in  a  foreign  land  to  meet  one 
from  home,  and  open  the  flood-gate,  and  let  these  thoughts  and  feel- 
in's  out ;  for  when  they  are  pent  up  they  ain't  healthy,  and  breed 
home-sickness,  and  that's  an  awful  feelin' ;  and  the  poorer  a  country 
is  folks  come  from,  the  more  they  are  subject  to  this  complaint.  How 
does  he  know  you  ain't  home-sick,  for  that  ain't  confined  to  no  age  ? 
How  does  he  know  there  never  was  a  man  in  the  world  met  with  so 
much  kindness  in  London  as  you  have,  and  from  entire  strangers 


"• i|i|i J  111"  immmr 


BAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


807 


Ike  of  the 
Does  A 

andC  as 
shed  man 
n'  to-daj, 
ed;  next 
or  a  fort- 
Du  at  all. 
er  every 

I'll  drop 
and  give 
Her,  dev- 
the  door, 
y  with  a 
you  call 

long  ac- 
td  sound, 

pleasure 
)f  union, 
ler  than 
^ou  can't 
■St  of  it 
iaa  often 
eend  of 
;hat  crit- 
iw  many 

!W  when 

d  some, 

had  its 

But  this 

battle- 

gs;  but 

I  by  the 

ies  as  I 
leet  one 
nd  feel- 
1  breed 
country 
How 
10  age? 
with  so 
rangers 


too,  and  that  you  dt  n't  need  him  or  his  attentions  ?  How  does  he 
know  I  am  with  you,  that  can  talk  a  man  dead  ?  He  don't  know, 
and  he  don't  care.  Now,  as  he  hante  been  near  you,  and  you  here 
four  months,  he  ain't  worth  a  cuss ;  he  ain't  nateral,  and  a  crittur 
that  ain't  nateral  ain't  worth  nothin'.  Cut  him  as  dead  as  a  skunk ; 
say  as  Crockett  did, '  you  may  go  to  h — I,  and  I'll  go  to  Texas.'  If 
I  was  you  I  wouldn't  tell  that  story,  it  tante  no  credit  to  Nova  Sco- 
tia, and  your  countrymen  won't  thank  you  a  bit  for  it,  I  can  tell  you. 

"  Oh  I  Squire,  I  am  'most  afraid  sometimes  there  ain't  no  sich 
thing  as  reel  friendship  in  the  world.  I  am  a  good  natered  crittur, 
and  always  was,  and  would  go  to  old  Nick  to  sarve  a  friend.  Father 
used  to  say  I  was  like  a  saw  horse,  my  arms  was  always  open ;  and 
I'd  find  in  the  eend  I'de  be  sawed  up  myself  for  my  pains.  Faith  I 
if  I'm  in  trouble  or  keeled  up  with  sickness,  every  feller  has  an  ex- 
cuse ;  one's  goin'  to  marry  a  wife,  another  to  buy  a  yoke  of  oxen, 
and  a  third  sais  it  will  cost  him  sixpence.  Doin'  a  man  a  favor  is 
no  way  to  make  a  friend :  the  moment  you  lay  him  under  an  obliga- 
tion youS^e  sold  him.  An  obligation  is  a  horrid  heavy  thing  to 
carry.  As  soon  as  he  buckles  it  on  and  walks  a  little  way,  he  sais, 
*  Well,  this  is  a-most  a  devil  of  a  heavy  pack  to  cany ;  I'm  e'en 
a'most  tired  to  death.  I'll  sit  down  and  rest ;'  so  down  he  pops  and  * 
laments  his  hard  fortin.  Then  he  ups  and  tries  it  again,  and  arter 
joggin'  on  a  space,  sais, '  Plague  take  the  strap,  how  it  cuts  into  the 
shoulder,  don't  it  ?  I  must  stop  agin  and  fix  it.'  Then  he  takes  a 
fresh  departur',  and  grumbles  and  growls  as  he  goes  on  like  a  bear 
with  a  sore  head,  and  sais, '  Oh !  my  sakes,  am  I  to  carry  this  infar- 
nal  bundle  all  my  life  long  ?  Why  it  will  kill  me,  its  so  everlastin' 
almighty  heavy,  that's  a  fact.  I  must  stop  to  drink,  for  I  am  'nation 
thirsty.'  Well,  he  slips  it  off,  and  lays  down  and  takes  a  drink,  and 
then  gets  up  and  stretches  himself,  and  sais, '  Well,  I  feel  a  great 
deal  better,  and  lighter  too,  without  that  'tarnal  knapsack.  I'll  be 
shot  if  I'll  take  it  up  agin,  see  if  I  do ;  so  there  now !'  and  he  jist 
gives  it  a  kick  into  the  brook  and  walks  on  without  it,  a  free  man, 
whistlin'  as  he  goes  that  old  psalm  tune,  <  O !  be  joyful,  all  ye  lands  I' 

''Nothin'  is  so  heavy  to  carry  as  gratitude.  Few  men  have 
strength  enough  to  bear  the  weight  long,  I  can  tell  you.  The  only 
way  that  I  know  to  make  a  feller  your  friend  is  to  kick  him.  Jist 
wfdk  into  the  street,  look  out  a  good  countenanced  crittur  that  you 
think  you'd  like,  seize  him  by  the  scruff  of'the  neck,  hold  him  out  to 
arm's-length,  and  kick  him  into  a  jelly  a'most,  and  when  you've  done, 
turn  him  round,  stare  him  in  the  face,  look  puzzled  like,  and  say,  *  I 
beg  your  pardon,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  took  you  for  so  and  so ;  I'll 
make  you  any  compensation  in  the  world :  I  feel  quite  streaked,  I  do 
indeed.'  *  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  friend^  he'll  say — he'll  call  you 
friend  at  oncet — '  tell  you  what,  my  friend,  another  time,  when  you 
assault,  a  man,  be  sure  that  you  get  hold  of  the  right  one.  A  mistake 


"^^ 


JF^IHVWT'"!,   *      ^"f'r  ^  ^ir      "Tuw  tip 


r^r 


808 


THE  ATTACH^:;  OB, 


of  this  kind  is  no  joke,  I  assure  you.'  '  My  dear  friend*  sais  you— 
for  you'll  call  him  dear  friend  at  oncet — '  you  can't  feel  more  ugly 
about  it  than  I  do ;  I'm  grieved  to  death." 

''  You  and  him  will  be  sworn  friends  afterwards  for  ever  and  a 
day,  see  if  you  ain't ;  he  has  been  kicked  into  an  intimacy ;  an  obli- 
gation sells  one  out  of  it.  We  may  like  those  we  have  injured,  or 
that  have  injured  us,  'cause  it  is  something  we  can  forgive  or  forget. 
We  can't  like  those  chat  have  done  us  a  favor,  for  it  ia  a  thing  we 
never  forgive.  Now,  what  are  ceremonials  but  ice-houses  that  keep 
affections  cold,  when  the  blood  is  at  a  high  temperature?  Retumin' 
calls  by  leavin'  cards ;  what  sense  is  there  in  that  ?  It  consumes 
good  card-board,  and  wastes  valuable  time.  Doctors  are  the  only 
people  that  understand  payin'  and  retumin*  visits.  I  shall  never 
forget  a  story  brother  Josiah,  the  Doctor,  told  me  oncet  about  the 
medical  way  of  visitin'.  I  was  a-goin'  oncet  from  Charleston  to  Bal- 
timore, and  sais  Josiah, '  Sam,*  sais  he, '  when  do  you  go  ?' '  To-mor- 
row,' sais  I, '  at  eight.*  '  I'll  go  with  you,'  he  sais ;  '  I  want  to  make 
a  mornin'  call  there.*  *  A  momin'  call,'  sais  I ;  *  it's  a  plaguy  long 
way  to  go  for  that,  and  considerable  costly,  too,  unless  it's  a  gal  you 
want  to  see,  and  that  alters  the  case.  Are  you  so  soft  in  the  horn 
as  to  go  all  that  distance  jist  to  leave  a  card  ?*  *  Sam,*  he  sais,  do 
you  recollect  when  we  was  to  night-school  to  old  Minister,  his  ex- 
plainin*  what  ellipsis  was  ?'  '  No,  I  never  heerd  of  it  afore,  is  it  a 
medicine?'  'Medicine!  what  a  fool  you  be.'  'Well,  what  the 
plague  is  it  then,'  sais  I,  '  is  it  French  ?'  '  Why,  Sam,  do  you  recol- 
lect one  single  blessed  thing  you  ever  lamt  to  school  ?'  '  Yes,  I  do,* 
sais  I,  *  I  larnt  that  a  man  who  calls  his  brother  a  fool  is  apt  to  git 
knocked  down,  in  the  first  place,  and  is  in  danger  of  somethin'  worse 
hereafter,  a  plaguy  sight  stronger  nor  your  doctor's  stuff.'  *  Don't 
you  recollect  ellipsis  ?'  sais  he ;  '  it's  somethin'  to  be  onderstood  but 
not  expressed.*  '  Well,  I  think  I  do  mind  it,  now  you  mention  it,' 
sais  I.  '  Well,*  sais  he, '  doctors'  visits  are  ellipsis  visits,  there  is  a 
good  deal  onderstood  but  not  expressed.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is  :  I've 
got  business  at  the  bank  at  Baltimore.  Well,  I  go  there,  do  my 
business  up  all  tight  and  snug,  and  then  go  call  op  Doctor  Flagg. 
Flagg  sais, '  How  are  you,  Slick  ?  when  did  you  come,  eh  ?  ghd  to 
see  you,  old  fellow.  Come  with  me,  I  have  a  most  interestin'  case ; 
it's  a  lady ;  she  gobbles  her  food  like  a  hen-turkey,  and  has  got  the 
dispepsy.  I  don't  like  to  talk  to  her  about  chawin*  her  food  fine, 
and  boltin*,  for  I'm  afeerd  of  offendin'  her ;  so  I  give  her  medicine 
to  do  the  work  of  her  teeth.'  '  Oh !'  sais  I,  '  I  take' — and  I  goes 
with  him  to  see  her ;  he  tells  me  her  treatment  afore  her,  jist  as  if 
he  had  never  mentioned  it,  and  as  grave  as  if  he  was  in  airnest 
*  Excellent,'  I  say, — '  nothin'  could  be  better ;  that  infusion  of  quas- 
sia chips  is  somethin'  new  in  practice,  that  I  take  to  be  a  discovery 
of  your  own.*    He  sais,  ♦  Yesj  I  rather  pride  myself  on  it.*    'You 


SAM  SLICE  m  ENOLAND. 


809 


d*  saia  you— 
eel  more  ugly 

or  ever  and  a 
acy ;  an  obli- 
ge injured,  or 
;ive  or  forget. 
is  a  thing  we 
uses  that  keep 
?     Retumin' 
It  consumes 
are  the  only 
[  shall  never 
et  about  the 
lesten  to  Bal- 
3?"To-mor- 
rsLiit  to  make 
plaguy  long 
t's  a  gal  you 
in  the  horn 
,'  he  sais,  do 
ister,  his  ex- 
afore,  is  it  a 
1,  what  the 
o  you  recol- 
;  Yes,  I  do/ 
is  apt  to  git 
ethin'  worse 
ff.'     'Don't 
erstood  but 
mention  it,' 

there  is  a 
^  it  is  :  I've 
lere,  do  my 
Jtor  Flagg. 
h  ?  g?Hd  to 
estin'  case ; 
has  got  the 
r  food  fine, 
r  medicine 
and  I  goes 
r,  jist  as  if 
in  airnest. 
m  of  quas- 

discovery 
it.'    «You 


have  reason,'  I  say. — *  I  think,  madam,'  sais  I,  '  there  is  some  ple- 
thora here.  I  would  recommend  you  to  comminuate  your  food  into 
a  more  attenuated  shape,  for  the  peristallic  action  is  weak.' — We  re- 
turn, and  he  slips  a  twenty-dollar  bill  into  my  hands ;  as  we  go  out 
the  front  door,  he  winks  and  sais, '  Do  you  stay  to-morrow,  SUck,  I 
have  another  case.' — *  No,  thank  you,  I'm  off  at  daylight.* 

"  When  he  comes  to  Charleston  I  return  the  visit,  my  patients  fee 
AVm,  and  travellin'  costs  neither  of  us  a  cent.  Its  done  by  ellipses, 
it  ain't  all  put  down  in  writin',  or  expressed  in  words,  but  its  onder- 
stood. 

"  No,  Squire,  friendship  is  selfishness  half  the  time.  If  your  skunk 
of  a  blue-nose  friend  could  a-made  anythin'  out  o'  you,  he'd  a-called 
on  you  the  day  arter  you  arrived.  Depend  upon  it  that  crittur  on- 
derstands  ellipses,  and  its  the  principle  he  acts  on  in  making  and 
returning  visits." 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

THE    CANADIAN    EXILE.— PART    I. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  Polytechnic,  and  on  our  return  through 
Regent  Street  I  met  a  person  whose  face,  although  I  did  not  recog- 
nize it,  reminded  me  so  strongly  of  some  one  I  had  seen  before,  that 
my  attention  was  strongly  attracted  towards  him  by  the  resemblance. 
The  moment  he  saw  me  he  paused,  and  taking  a  second  look  at  me, 
advanced  and  offered  me  his  hand. 

"  It  is  many  years  since  we  met,  Mr.  Poker,"  he  said.  "  I  observe 
you  do  not  recollect  me,  few  of  my  old  friends  do,  I  am  so  altered. 
I  am  Major  Furlong." 

"  My  dear  Major,"  I  said,  "  how  do  you  do  ?  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you  again ;  pray  how  is  all  your  family,  and  especially  my  dear 
young  friend.  Miss  Furlong  ?" 

A  dark  shadow  passed  suddenly  across  his  face,  he  evaded  the 
question,  and  said  he  was  glad  to  see  me  looking  so  well ;  and  then 
inquiring  my  address,  said  he  would  take  an  early  opportunity  of 
calling  to  see  me. 

I  am  a  blunderer,  and  always  have  been.  Every  man  knows,  or 
ought  to  know,  that  after  a  long  interval  of  absence  he  should  be  cau- 
tious in  asking  questions  about  particular  individuals  of  a  family, 
lest  death  should  have  invaded  the  circle  in  the  meantime,  and  made 
a  victim  of  the  object  of  his  inquiry.  It  was  evident  that  I  had 
opened  a  wound  not  yet  healed,  and  instead  of  giving  pleasure,  had 
inflicted  pain.    A  stumbling  horse  is  incurable,  a  blundering  man,  I 


810 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


fear  is  equally  so.  One  thing  is  certain,  I  will  never  hereafter  in- 
quire for  any  one's  health  in  particular,  b\it  after  the  family  gener- 
ally. I  now  understand  the  delicate  circumspection  of  Mr.  Slick's 
phraseology,  who  invariably  either  asks,  "  How  is  all  to  home  to- 
day ?"  or  ''  How  is  all  to  home  in  a  gineral  way,  and  yourself  in  par- 
ticular, to  day  ?"  I  will  be  cautious  for  the  future.  But  to  return 
to  my  narrative,  for  as  I  grow  older  I  find  my  episodes  grow  longer. 
I  said  we  should  dine  at  home  that  day,  at  our  lodgings,  202,  Picca- 
dilly (I  insert  the  number,  gentle  reader,  because  I  recommend  Mr. 
Weeks,  of  202,  to  your  particular  patronage),  and  that  Mr.  Hope- 
well and  myself  would  be  most  happy  to  see  him  at  seven,  if  he 
would  favor  us  with  his  company.  "  Weeks,"  I  said,  "  is  a  capital 
purveyor.  I  can  promise  you  an  excellent  bottle  of  wine,  and  you 
will  meet '  Mr.  Slick.' "  Neither  the  good  wine,  of  which  I  knew 
him  to  be  an  excellent  judge,  nor  the  humor  of  "  the  €lockmaker," 
which,  eight  years  before,  he  so  fully  appreciated  and  so  loudly  ap- 
plauded, appeared  to  have  any  attractions  for  him ;  he  said  he  should 
be  most  happy  to  come,  and  took  his  leave.  Happy ! — how  mechan- 
ically we  use  words !  how  little  we  feel  what  we  say  when  we  use 
phrases  which  fashion  has  prescribed,  instead  of  uttering  our  thoughts 
in  our  own  way,  or  clothing  them  in  their  natural  apparel !  Happy  I 
Poor  man,  he  will  never  again  know  happiness,  until  he  reaches 
that  place  "  Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary 
are  at  rest." 

"  Who  the  plague  is  that  horrid  solemncoly  man  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick 
when  I  rejoined  him ;  "  he  looks  as  if  he  had  lost  his  last  shillin', 
and  as  it  was  the  only  survivin'  one  out  of  twenty,  which  made  tho 
round  sum  of  the  family,  he  was  afeered  he  should  not  g.>t  another. 
Who  the  plague  is  he  ?  London  ain't  no  place  for  a  man  to  be  in 
who  is  out  of  the  tin,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  He  is  Major  Furlong,  of  the regiment,"  I  said.    "  When  I 

first  became  acquainted  with  him,  eight  years  ago,  he  was  stationed 
at  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia ;  he  was  one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  I 
ever  met,  and  was  a  general  favorite  with  his  brother  officers  and 
the  people  of  the  west  end  of  the  town.  He  was  a  married  man,  and 
had  two  daughters  grown  up,  and  two  sons  at  school." 

"  He  was  married,  was  he  ?"  said  Mr.  Slick.  "  Well,  we  find,  in 
our  sarvice  when  a  feller  is  fool  enough  to  accommodate  himself  with 
a  wife,  it  is  time  for  the  country  to  disaccommodate  itself  of  him.  I 
don't  know  how  it  is  in  your  sarvice,  seein'  that  when  I  was  to  Nova 
Scotia  I  was  only  a  clockmaker,  and,  in  course,  didn't  dine  at  mess; 
but  I  know  how  'tis  in  our'n.  We  find  now  and  then  the  wives  of  offi- 
cers of  marchin'  regiments,  the  very  delightful  critturs,  not  always  the 
most  charmin'  women  in  the  world  arter  all.  A  little  money  and  no 
beauty,  or  a  little  beauty  and  no  money,  or  a  little  interest  and  no- 
thin'  else,  are  the  usual  attractions  to  idle  or  speculatin'  men  who 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


811 


want  to  drive  a  tandem  or  to  sport  a  belle.  Nor  is  every  maiTied 
man  by  any  means  either  the  most  seu»ible  or  the  most  agreeable 
of  his  corps  neither.  Sensible,  he  cannot  be,  or  he  would  not  have 
married.  The  gaudy  tinsel  of  military  life  soon  tarnishes,  and  when 
poverty  shows  thro'  it  like  a  pictur'-frame  when  the  gildin'  is  worn 
off,  it  sours  the  temper  too  much  to  let  'em  be  agreeable.  Young 
subalterns  should  never  be  sent  on  detachments  to  country  quarters 
in  or.r  great  Republic.  This  duty  should  be  done  either  by  sargints 
or  old  field  officers.  A  sargint  cannot  marry  without  obtainin'  per- 
mission, and  is  therefore  safe ;  and  if  an  old  officer  takes  to  drinkin' 
at  their  out-o'-the-way  posts,  in  Maine  or  Florida,  as  he  probably 
will,  and  kill  himself  in  his  attempts  to  kill  time,  the  regiment  will 
be  more  efficient,  by  bein'  commanded  by  younger  and  smarter  men. 
To  die  in  the  sarvice  of  one's  country  is  a  glorious  thing,  l^ut  to  die 
of  a  wife  and  ten  children,  don't  excite  no  pity,  and  don't  aim  no 
praise,  I'll  be  shot  if  it  does.  To  expose  a  young  man  to  the  snares 
and  spring-traps  of  match-makin'  mothers,  and  the  charms  of  idle 
uneducated  young  gals  in  country  quarters,  is  as  bad  as  erectin* 
barracks  on  marshy  grounds  that  are  subject  to  fever  and  ague.  It 
renders  the  corps  unfit  for  duty.  To  be  idle  is  to  be  in  danger,  and 
to  be  idle  in  danger  is  sure  and  certain  ruin.  Officers  stationed  at 
these  outposts  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  admire  and  be  admired — to 
sport  and  to  flirt.  They  fish  every  day,  and  are  fished  for  every 
evenin',  and  are,  in  course,  as  we  say  in  the  mackarel  line,  too  often 
*  hook'd  in.'  If  the  fish  is  more  valuable  than  the  bait,  what  must 
the  bait  be,  where  so  little  value  is  placed  on  the  fish  ?  This  is  the 
reason  that  we  hear  of  so  many  solemncoly  instances  of  blasted  pros- 
pects, of  unhappy  homes,  of  discontented,  or  dissipated  husbands, 
and  reckless  or  broken-hearte,'  vives.  Indeed,  marriage  in  the  army 
should  be  aginst  the  regulations  of  the  service.  A  man  can't  serve 
two  mistresses — his  country  and  his  wife.  It-  sp'iles  a  good  soldier 
to  make  a  bad  husband ;  but  it  changes  a  woman  wuss,  for  it  convarts 
her,  by  changing  Holton  ice  and  snows  for  Alabama's  heats  and 
fevers,  into  a  sort  of  Egyptian  mummy.  She  dries  as  much,  but  she 
don't  keep  so  well.  Lord !  how  I  pity  an  officer's  wife,  that's  been 
dragged  about  from  pillar  to  post  that  way.  In  a  few  years,  her 
skin  is  as  yaller  as  an  orange,  or  as  brown  as  mahogany.  She  looks 
all  eyes  and  mouth,  as  if  she  could  take  her  food  whold,  and  as  thin 
and  light  in  the  body  as  a  night-hawk.  She  gets  mannish^  too,  from 
bein'  among  men  so  much,  and  her  talk  gets  a  sportin'  turn,  instead  of 
talk  of  the  feminine  gender.  She  tells  stories  of  bosses,  and  dog.s,  and 
huntin',  and  camps,  and  our  young  fellers,  as  she  calls  the  boy  offi- 
cers, and  their  sprees.  She  sees  what  she  hadn't  ought  to  see,  and 
hears  what  she  hadn't  ought  to  hear,  and  knows  what  she  oughtn't 
to  know,  and  sometimes  talks  what  she  hadn't  ought  to  talk.  It  e'en 
a  jist  sp'iles  her  in  the  long  run.    And  the  children — poor  little 


^wn^iip^»i'ini"iii).ipw"»  1 1'  ■ '  ■  'I- 1 


t 


312 


THE   ATTACH^;   OR, 


wretches ! — what  a  school  a  barracks  is  for  them ! — What  beautiful 
new  oaths  the  boys  larn,  and  splendid  leetle  bits  and  scraps  of  wick- 
edness they  pick  up  from  the  sodgers  and  sodger  boys ;  and  the  leetle 
galls,  what  nice  leetle  stories  they  hear ;  and  what  pretty  leetle  tricks 
they  larn  from  camp  women,  and  their  leetle  galls  !  And  if  there 
ain't  nothin'  but  the  pay,  what  an  everlastin'  job  it  is  to  alter  frocks, 
and  razee  coats,  and  coax  down  stockin's  for  them.  A  gold  epau- 
lette on  the  shoulder,  and  a  few  coppers  in  the  pocket,  makes  poverty 
farment  till  it  gets  awful  sour;  and  silk  gowns  and  lace  collars,  and 
muslin  dresses  and  feathers,  for  parties  abroad,  and  short  allowance 
for  the  table  to  home,  makes  gentility  not  very  gentle  sometimes. 
When  the  galls  grows  up,  its  wuss.  There  is  nobody  to  walk  with, 
or  ride  with,  or  drive  with,  or  sing  with,  or  dance  with,  but  young 
officers.  "Well,  it  ain't  jist  easy  for  poor  marm,  who  is  up  to  snut^ 
to  work  it  so  that  they  jist  do  enough  of  all  this  to  marry;  and  yet 
not  enough  talkin'  to  get  talked  of  themselves — to  get  a  new  name 
afore  they  have  sp'ilt  their  old  one,  and  jist  walk  the  chalks  exactly. 
And  then,  what's  wuss  than  all,  its  a  roost  here,  and  a  roost  there, 
and  a  wanderin'  about  everywhere ;  but  there  ain't  no  home — no 
leetle  flower-garden — no  leetle  orchard — no  leetle  brook — no  leetle 
lambs — no  leetle  birds — no  pretty  leetle  re  s — with  pretty  leetle 
nick-knackery  on  'em ;  but  an  empty  barrack-room ;  cold,  cheerless 
lodgin's,  that  ain't  in  a  nice  street ;  or  an  awful  door,  and  awful  bad 
inn.  Here,  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow — to  know  folks,  but  to 
forget  'em — to  love  folks,  but  to  part  from  'em — to  come  without 
pleasure,  to  leave  without  pain ;  and,  at  last — for  a  last  will  come  to 
every  story — still  no  home.  Yes !  there  is  a  home,  too,  and  I  hadn't 
ought  to  forget  it,  tho'  it  is  a  small  one. 

"  Jist  outside  the  ramparts,  in  a  nice  little  quiet  nook,  there  is  a 
little  grass  mound,  the  matter  of  five  or  six  feet  long,  and  two  feet 
wide  or  so,  with  a  little  slab  at  one  eend,  and  a  round  stone  at  t'other 
eend ;  and  wild  roses  gi'ow  on  it,  and  some  little  birds  build  there 
and  sing,  and  there  ain't  no  more  trouble  then.  Father's  house  was 
the  fust  home — but  that  was  a  gay,  cheerful,  noisy  one ;  this  is  a 
quiet,  silent,  but  very  safe  and  secure  one.  It  is  the  last  home ! ! 
No,  Sir !  matrimony  in  the  army  should  be  made  a  capital  offence, 
and  a  soldier  that  marries,  like  a  man  who  desarts  his  post,  should 
be  brought  to  a  court-martial,  and  made  an  immediate  example  of, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  sarvice.     Is  that  the  case  in  your  regiments  ?" 

"  I  should  think  not,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  do  not  know  enough  of  the 
army  to  say  whether  the  effects  are  similar  or  not ;  but,  as  far  as  my 
little  experience  goes,  I  should  say  the  picture  is  overdrawn,  even 
as  regards  your  own.  If  it  be  true,  however,  Mrs.  Furlong  was  a 
deligiitful  exception ;  she  was  as  amiable  as  she  was  beautiful,  and 
liad  a  highly  cultivated  and  a  remarkably  well  regulated  mind.  I 
had  not  the  good  fortune  to  make  their  acquaintance  when  they  first 


-^ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


313 


arrived,  and  in  a  few  months  after  we  became  known  to  each  other, 
the  regiment  was  ordered  to  Canada,  where  I  lost  sight  of  them.  I 
had  heard,  indeed,  that  he  had  sold  out  of  the  army,  purchased  an 
estate  near  Prescott,  and  settled  on  it  with  his  family.  Soon  after 
that,  the  rebellion  broke  out,  and  I  was  informed  that  his  buildings 
had  been  destroyed  by  the  reformers,  but  I  never  learned  the  parti- 
culars. This  was  all  that  I  could  recall  to  my  mind,  and  to  this  I 
attributed  his  great  alteration  of  manner  and  appearance."  Punc- 
tually at  seven,  the  Major  arrived  for  dinner.  The  conversation 
never  rose  into  cheerfulness  by  a  reference  to  indifferent  subjects, 
nor  sunk  into  melancholy  by  allusion  to  his  private  affairs,  but  it  was 
impossible  not  to  see  that  this  even  tenor  was  upheld  by  a  great 
exertion  of  moral  courage.  During  the  evening,  Mr.  Hopewell, 
who  only  knew  that  he  was  a  half-pay  officer  that  had  settled  in 
Canada,  unfortunately  interrogated  him  as  to  the  rebellion,  and  the 
share  he  had  taken,  if  any,  in  suppressing  it,  when  he  told  us  the 
melancholy  story  related  in  the  following  chapter. 


CHAPTER    LVII. 


THE    CANADIAN    EXILE.— PART    II. 

"  You  are  aware,  Mr.  Poker,"  said  Major  Furlong,  "  that  shortly 
after  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance  at  Halifax, 
my  regiment  was  ordered  to  Canada ;  I  was  stationed  in  the  upper 
province,  the  fertility  and  beauty  of  which  far  exceeded  any  accounts 
I  had  ever  heard  of  it.  Our  next  tour  of  duty  was  to  be  in  the  West 
Indies.  My  poor  Amelia  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  climate, 
and  suggv^sted  to  me,  a.  our  family  was  getting  to  be  too  expensive 
to  removal  so  often,  to  terminate  our  erratic  life  by  settling  in  Cana- 
da. A  very  favorable  opportunity  occurring  soon  after,  I  sold  out 
of  the  army,  purchased  a  large  tract  of  land,  erected  a  very  pretty 
cottage,  and  all  necessary  farm  buildings,  and  provided  myself  with 
as  many  cattle  of  the  best  description  as  the  meadow-land  would  war- 
rant me  in  keeping.  In  a  short  tune  I  was  very  comfortably  settled, 
and  my  wife  and  daughters  were  contented  and  happy.  We  had 
not  only  all  the  necessaries  and  comforts  of  life  about  us,  but  many 
of  the  luxuries,  and  I  congratulated  myself  upon  having  turned  my 
sword  into  a  ploughshare.  I'his  state  of  things,  however,  was  not 
doomed  to  last  long.  So  many  unwise  concessions  had  been  recently 
made  by  the  Colonial  Office  to  local  demagogues,  that  they  became 
emboldened  in  theii*  demands,  and  the  speeches  of  Roebuck  and 

14 


iiftn^.ii»><i<i>H«igii,<<;im,iiwi>wj  ,ll«"wJi  W'WHf^^llujjmilw^^P*!^!!^^!!^,,^^! 


i 


S14 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


Hume,  in  Parliament,  and  a  treasonable  letter  of  the  latter,  which 
had  been  widely  circulated  through  the  country,  fanned  the  flame  of 
discontent  until  it  broke  out  into  open  rebellion.  They  gave  them- 
selves the  very  appropriate  title  of '  Patriots,'  '  Reformers,'  and  *  Lib- 
erals'— names  that  are  always  assumed  when  the  deception  and  de- 
lusion of  the  lower  orders  is  to  be  attempted.  They  were  desperate 
men,  as  such  people  generally  are,  destitute  of  property,  of  charac- 
ter, or  of  principle,  and  as  such  found  a  warm  sympathy  in  the  scum 
of  the  American  population,  the  refuse  of  the  other  colonies,  and  the 
agitators  in  England.  A  redress  of  grievances  was  their  watchword, 
but  fire  and  murder  were  their  weapons,  and  plunder  their  real  ob- 
ject. The  feeble  Government  of  the  Whigs  had  left  us  to  our  own 
resources — we  had  to  arm  in  our  own  defence,  and  a  body  of  my 
neighbors,  forming  themselves  into  a  volunteer  corps,  requested  me 
to  take  the  command.  The  euties  we  had  to  perform  were  of  the 
most  harassing  nature,  and  the  hardships  we  endured  in  that  inclem- 
ent season  of  the  year  baffle  all  description  and  exceed  all  belief.  I 
feoon  became  a  marked  man — my  life  was  threatened,  my  cattle  were 
destroyed,  and  my  family  frequently  shot  at.  At  last  the  Reformers 
seized  the  opportunity  of  my  absence  from  home  with  the  volunteers, 
to  set  fire  to  my  house,  and  as  the  family  escaped  from  the  flames, 
to  shoot  at  them  as  they  severally  appeared  in  the  light  of  the  fire. 
My  eldest  daughter  was  killed  in  attempting  to  escape,  the  rest 
reached  the  woods,  with  the  slight  covering  they  could  hastily  put 
on  in  their  flight,  where  they  spent  the  night  in  the  deep  snow,  and 
were  rescued  in  the  morning,  nearly  exhausted  with  fatigue  and  ter- 
ror, and  severely  frostbitten. 

"  During  all  this  trying  period,  my  first  care  was  to  provide  for 
my  houseless,  helpless  family ;  I  removed  them  to  another  and  more 
tranquil  part  of  the  country,  and  then  resumed  my  command.  By 
the  exertior  3  and  firmness  of  M'Nab,  and  the  bravery  and  loyalty 
of  the  British  part  of  the  population,  the  rebellion  was  at  last  put 
down,  and  I  returned  to  my  desolate  home.  But,  alas !  my  means 
were  exhausted — I  had  to  mortgage  my  property  to  raise  '^^  i  neces- 
sary funds  to  rebuild  my  house  and  re-stock  my  farm,  and,  from  a 
of  affluence,  I  found  myself  suddenly  reduced  to  the  condition 
ji  .  I  -''li.-  man.  I  felt  that  my  services  and  my  losses,  in  my  coun- 
tiv':-  .  .iir-c,  gave  me  a  claim  upon  the  Government,  and  I  sohcited 
>}     .  ii'    '"untry  office,  then  vacant,  to  recruit  my  finances. 

'  J  'iuc  of  my  surprise,  when  I  was  told  that  I  was  of  different 
politics  from  the  local  administration,  which  had  recently  been 
formed  fi'om  the  disaffected  party ;  that  I  was  a  loyalist ;  that  the 
rebels  must  be  pacified — that  the  well  understood  wishes  of  the  peo- 
ple must  be  considered,  a  large  portion  of  whom  were  opposed  to 
Tories,  Chur.ihmen,  and  Loyalists;  that  the  rebels  were  to  be  par- 
doned, conciliated,  and  promoted ;  and  that  I  had  not  the  necessary 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


^       815 


T,  which 
flame  of 
ve  them- 
Dd  '  Lib- 
1  and  de- 
esperate 
f charac- 
^he  scum 
,  and  the 
tchword, 

real  ob- 
our  own 
Jy  of  my 
ested  me 
re  of  the 
t  inclem- 
telief.  I 
ttle  were 
eformers 
ilunteers, 
3  flames, 
'  the  fire. 

the  rest 
istily  put 
Qow,  and 

and  ter- 

ovide  for 
»nd  more 
,nd.  By 
d  loyalty 
:  last  put 
y  means 
neces- 
i,  from  a 
condition 
ny  coun- 
solicited 

different 
tly  been 

that  the 
■  the  peo- 
iposed  to 
be  par- 
lecessary 


qualifications  for  office,  inasmuch  as  I  was  a  gentleman,  had  been  in 
arms  against  the  people,  upheid  British  connection,  and  was  a  mon- 
archist. This  I  could  have  borne.  It  was  a  sad  reverse  of  fortune, 
it  is  true ;  my  means  were  greatly  reduced,  my  feelings  deeply 
wounded,  and  my  pride  as  a  man  and  an  Englishman  severely  mor- 
tified. I  knew,  however,  I  was  in  no  way  the  cause  of  this  calamity, 
and  that  I  still  had  the  fortitude  of  a  soldier  and  the  hope  of  a  Chris- 
tian. But,  alas  !  the  sufferings  my  poor  wife  endured,  when  driven, 
at  the  dead  of  night,  to  seek  shelter  in  the  snowdrifts  from  her  mer- 
ciless pursuers,  had  thrown  her  into  a  decline,  and  day  by  day  I  had 
the  sad  and  melancholy  spectacle  before  my  eyes  of  this  dear  and 
amiable  woman,  sinking  into  the  grave  with  a  ruined  constitution 
and  a  broken  heart.  Nor  was  I  suffered  to  remain  unmolested  my- 
self, even  when  the  rebellion  had  ceased.  Murder,  arson,  and  ruin 
had  not  yet  glutted  the  vengeance  of  these  remorseless  Reformers. 
I  constantly  received  threatening  letters ;  men  in  disguise  were  still 
occasionally  seen  lurking  about  my  premises,  and  three  several  times 
I  was  shot  at  by  these  assassins.  Death  at  last  put  an  end  to  the 
terrors  and  sufferings  of  poor  Amelia,  and  I  laid  her  beside  her 
murdered  daughter.  Having  sold  my  property,  I  left  the  country 
with  the  little  remnant  of  my  fortune,  and  sought  refuge  in  my  na- 
tive land  with  my  remaining  daughter  and  two  sons.  Good  heavens ! 
had  I  taken  your  advice,  which  still  rings  in  my  ears,  I  should  have 
escaped  this  misery.  *  Don't  settle  in  Canada,*  you  said,  '  it  is  a 
border  country ;  you  are  exposed  to  sympathisers  without,  and  to 
patriots  within — below  you  is  treason,  and  above  you  is  Durhamism. 
Years  and  Whigs  must  pass  away,  and  Toryism  and  British  feeling 
return,  before  tranquillity  will  be  restored  in  that  unhappy  country.' 
Remarkable  prophecy!  wonderfully  fulfilled!  Oh!  had  I  taken 
your  advice,  and  gone  among  Turks  and  infidels,  obedience  to  the 
laws  would  have,  at  all  events,  insured  protection ;  and  defending 
the  government,  if  it  had  not  been  followed  by  reward,  would  at 
least  not  have  incurred  displeasure  and  disgrace.  But,  alas  !  I  had 
been  bred  a  soldier,  and  been  taught  to  respect  the  British  flag,  and, 
unhappily,  sought  a  home  in  a  colony  too  distant  for  a  British  army 
to  protect  or  British  honor  to  reach.     My  poor  dear  sainted  wife — 

my  poor  murdered  daughter  may " 

Here,  overcome  by  his  feelings,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  was  dreadfully  and  feai'fully  agitated.  At  last,  springing  sud- 
denly up  in  a  manner  that  brought  us  all  to  our  feet,  he  exhibited 
that  wildness  of  eye  peculiar  to  insanity,  and  seizing  me  with  won- 
derful muscular  energy  by  the  arm,  he  pointed  to  the  corner  of  the 
room,  and  screamed  out  "There!  there!  do  you  see  it? — ^look, 
look ! — it  is  all  on  fire ! — do  you  hear  those  cursed  rifles  ? — that's 
Mary  in  the  light  there !"  and  then  raising  his  voice  to  a  feai'ful 
pitch,  called  out,  "  Run !  tor  Gad's  sake ;  run,  Mary,  to  the  shade, 


' 


316 


THE    ATTACHE  ;   OK, 


or  they'll  shoot  you  ! — make  for  the  woods ! — don't  stop  to  look  be- 
hind ! — run,  dear,  run !" — and  then  suddenly  lowering  his  tone  to  a 
harsh  whisper,  wliieh  still  grati-s  in  my  ears  as  I  write,  he  contin- 
ued, "  There !  look  at  the  corner  of  that  harn — do  you  see  that  Re- 
former standing  in  the  edge  of  the  light  ? — look  at  him ! — see  him ! 
— good  Heavens !  he  is  taking  aim  with  his  rifle ! — she's  lost,  by 
G— -d !"  and  then  shou  ng  out  again  "  Run,  Mary ! — run  to  the 
shade ;"  and  again  whispering  "  Do  you  hear  that?  He  has  fired— 
that's  only  the  scream  of  fright — he  missed  her — run  I  run  1"  Ho 
shouted  again.  "  One  minute  more,  and  you  are  safe — keep  to  the 
right ;"  and  then  pressing  my  arm  with  his  hand  like  a  vice,  he  said, 
"  They  have  given  him  another  rifle — he  is  aiming  again — he  has 
shot  her ! — by  Heavens,  she's  killed  !"  and  springing  forward,  he  fell 
on  the  floor  at  full  length  in  a  violent  convulsion  fit,  the  blood  gush- 
ing from  his  nose  and  mouth  in  a  dreadful  manner. 

"  This  is  an  awful  scene !"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  after  the  Major 
had  been  undressed,  and  put  to  bed,  and  tranquillity  in  some  mea- 
sure restored  again.  "  This  is  a  fearful  scene.  I  wonder  how  much 
of  this  poor  man's  story  is  correct,  or  how  much  is  owing  to  the  in- 
sanity under  which  he  is  evidently  laboring. — I  fear  the  tale  is  too 
true.  I  have  heard,  much  that  confirms  it.  What  a  fearful  load  of 
responsibility  rests  on  the  English  Government  of  that  day,  that  ex- 
posed the  loyal  colonists  to  all  these  hoi'rors ;  and  then  regarded 
their  fidelity  and  valor,  their  losses  and  their  sufferings,  with  indif- 
ference— almost  bordering  on  contempt.  It  was  not  always  thus. 
After  the  American  Revolution,  the  British  gave  pensions  to  the 
provincial  officers,  and  compensation  to  those  who  had  suffered  for 
their  I'^yalty.  Fidelity  was  then  appreciated,  and  honored.  But 
times  have  sadly  changed.  When  I  heard  of  the  wild  theories  Lord 
Durham  propounded,  and  the  strange  mixture  of  absolutism  and  de- 
mocracy prescribed  by  the  quackery  of  Thompson,  1  felt  that  noth- 
ing but  tlie  advent  of  the  Tories  would  ever  remedy  the  evils  they 
were  entailing  on  the  colonies.  Removed  they  never  can  be,  but 
they  can  be  greatly  palliated :  and  a  favorable  change  has  already 
come  over  the  face  of  things.  A  man  is  no  longer  ashamed  to  avow 
himself  loyal ;  nor  will  his  attacl-iaent  to  his  Queen  and  country  be 
any  longer,  I  hope,  a  disqualification  for  office.  I  trust  the  time  has 
now  arrived,  when  we  shall  never  again  hear  of — A  Canadian 
Mxiler 


SAM   SLICK    IN   ENGLAND. 


817 


'. .  ' . 


■  I 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 


WATERING     PLACES. 

Mr.  Hopewell  having  gone  into  the  country  for  a  few  weeks, 
to  visit  some  American  families,  the  Attache  and  myself  went  to 
Brighton,  Leamington,  Cheltenham,  and  some  minor  watering- 
places,  for  the  purpose  of  comparing  them  with  each  other ;  as  also 
with  Saratoga  and  other  American  towns  of  a  similar  kind.  "  As  a 
stranger,  Mr.  Slick,  and  a  man  of  small  means,"  I  said,  "  I  rather 
like  a  place  like  Cheltenham.  The  country  around  is  very  beauti- 
ful, the  air  good ;  living  very  cheap,  amusement  enough  provided, 
especially  for  one  so  easily  amused  as  myself.  And  then  there  is 
less  of  that  chilly  and  repulsive  English  reserve  than  you  find  else- 
where." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  «  I  like  'em,  and  I  don't  like  'em  ;  kinder 
sort  o'  so,  and  kinder  sort  of  not  so,  but  more  not  so  nor  so.  For  a 
lark,  such  as  you  and  me  has  had,  why,  it's  well  enough ;  and  it  ain't 
bad  as  a  place  for  seein'  character ;  but  I  wouldn't  like  to  live  here, 
somehow,  all  the  year  round.  They  have  but  four  objects  in  view 
here,  and  them  they  are  for  everlastin'  a-chasin'  arter — health  or 
wealth — life  or  a  wife.  It  would  be  fun  enough  in  studyin'  the  folks, 
as  I  have  amused  myself  many  a  day  in  doing,  only  them  horrid 
solemncoly-lookin'  people  that  are  struck  with  death,  and  yet  not  dead 
— totterin',  shakin',  tremblin',  crawlin',  and  wheelin'  about,  with  their 
legs  and  feet  gone,  wheezin',  coffin',  puffin'  and  blowin',  with  their 
bellowses  gone — feelin',  leadin,'  stumblin',  and  tumblin',  with  their 
eyes  gone— or  trumpet-eared,  roarin',  borein,  callin',  and  bawlin', 
with  their  hearin'  gone, — don't  let  you  think  of  nothin'  else.  These, 
and  a  thousand  more  tricks,  death  plays  here,  in  givin'  notice  to  quit, 
makes  me  feel  as  if  I  might  be  drafted  myself  some  fine  day  into  the 
everlastin'  corps  of  veteran  invalids,  and  have  to  put  on  the  uniform, 
and  go  the  rounds  with  the  awkward  squad.  Oh,  dear  I  for  a  feller 
like  me,  that's  always  travelled  all  my  life  as  hard  as  ever  I  could 
lick,  or  a  horse  like  old  Clay  could  carry  me,  for  to  come  at  the  eend 
of  the  journey  to  wind  up  the  last  stage,  with  a  leetle  four-wheeled 
waggon,  and  a  man  to  drag  me  on  the  side-path !  What  a  skary 
kind  of  thought  it  is,  ain't  it  ?  Oh,  dear !  it's  sot  one  o'  my  feet 
asleep  already,  only  a-thinkin'  of  it — it  has,  upon  my  soul  1    Let's 


SB 


818 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


(  5 


walk  to  the  seat  over  there,  where  I  can  sit  and  kick  my  heel,  for 
posi/evcly,  my  legs  is  gittin*  numb.  I  wonder  whether  palsy  is 
ketchin'  ?  The  sick  and  the  yvall  liere  ouglit  to  have  a  great  caucus 
meetin',  and  come  to  an  onderstandin'.  Them  that's  healthy  should 
eay  to  t'others, '  Come  i  >w,  old  fellows,  let's  make  a  fair  division  of 
these  places.  If  you  a  sick,  choose  your  ground,  and  you  shall 
have  it.  Do  you  want  ^  i  air  ?  Well,  there  is  Brighton,  you  shall 
have  it ;  it's  a  horrid  stupid  place,  and  just  fit  for  you,  and  will  do 
your  business  for  you  in  a  month.  Do  you  want  inland  air  ?  Well, 
there  is  Leamington  or  Cheltenham — take  your  choice.  Leaming- 
ton, is  it  ?  Well  then,  you  shall  have  it ;  and  you  may  take  Ilerne 
Bay  and  Bath  into  the  bargain ;  tor  we  want  to  be  liberal,  and  act 
kindly  to  you,  seein'  you  aint  well.  Now  there's  four  placvs  for  you 
— mind  you  stick  to  'em.  If  you  go  anywhere  else,  you  shall  be 
transported  for  life,  as  sure  as  rates.  Birds  of  a  feather  flock 
together.  All  you  sick  folks  go  there,  and  tell  your  aches  and  pains, 
and  receipts,  and  quack  medicines  to  each  other.  It's  a  great  com- 
fort to  a  sick  man  to  have  some  feller  to  tell  his  nasty,  dirty,  shockin* 
stories  about  his  stomach  to ;  and  no  one  will  listen  to  you  but 
another  sick  man,  'cause  when  you  are  done,  he's  a-goin'  to  up  and 
let  you  have  his  interestin'  history.  Folks  that's  well,  in  gineral  al- 
ways vote  it  a  bore,  and  absquotolate-^they  won't  listen,  that's  a 
fact.  They  jist  look  up  to  the  sky,  as  soon  as  you  begin, — I  sufier 
dreadfully  with  bile, — and  say, — Oh !  it's  goin'  to  rain,  do  go  in,  as 
you  have  been  takin'  calomel ;  and  they  open  a  door,  shove  you  into 
the  entry,  and  race  right  off  as  hard  as  they  can  clip.  Who  the 
devil  wants  to  hear  about  bile  ?  Well,  then,  as  you  must  have  some- 
body to  amuse  you,  we  will  give  you  into  the  bargain  a  parcel  of 
old  East  Indgy  olhcers,  that  ain't  ill  and  ain't  well ;  ripe  enough  to 
begin  to  decay,  and  most  likely  are  a  little  too  far  gone  in  places. 
They  won't  keep  good  long ;  its  likely  old  Scratch  will  take  'em  sud- 
den some  night ;  so  you  shall  have  these  fellers.  They  lie  so  like 
the  devil  they'll  make  you  stare,  that's  a  fact.  If  you  only  promise 
to  let  them  get  on  an  elephant  hunt  arter  dinner,  they'll  let  you  tell 
about  your  rumatics,  what  you're  rubbed  in,  and  took  in,  how  'cute 
the  pain  is,  and  you  may  grin  and  make  faces  to  'em  till  you  are 
tired :  and  tell  'em  how  you  didn't  sleep ;  and  how  shockin'  active 
you  was  once  upon  a  time  when  you  was  young ;  and  describe  all 
about  your  pills,  plaisters,  and  blisters,  and  every  thin'.  Well,  then, 
pay  'em  for  listenin',  for  it  desarves  it,  by  mountin'  them  for  a  tiger 
hunt,  and  they'll  beguile  away  pain.  I  know,  they  will  tell  such 
horrid  thumpers.  Or  you  can  have  a  boar  hunt,  or  a  great  sarpent 
hunt,  or  Suttees,  or  any  thin'.  Three  lines  for  a  fact,  and  three  vol- 
umes for  the  romance.  Airth  and  seas  !  how  they  lie !  There  are 
two  things  every  feller  leaves  in  the  East,  his  liver  and  his  truth. 
Few  horses  can  trot  as  fast  as  they  can  invent;  yes,  you  may  have 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


819 


these  old  'coons,  and  then  when  you  are  tied  by  the  leg  and  can't 
stir,  it  will  amuse  you  to  see  them  old  sinners  lookin'  opder  gals* 
bonnets,  chuckin'  chambermaids  onder  the  chin,  and  winkin'  impe> 
dent  to  the  shop-woman,  not  'cause  it  pleases  women,  for  it  don't — 
young  heifers  can't  abide  old  fellers — but  'cause  it  pleases  themselves 
to  fancy  they  are  young.  Never  play  cards  with  them,  for  if  they 
lose  they  are  horrid  cross  and  everlastin'  sarsy,  and  you  have  to 
swaller  it  all,  for  it's  cowardly  to  kick  a  feller  that's  got  the  gout ; 
and  if  they  win,  they  make  too  much  noise  a-larfin,  they  are  so 
pleased.' 

"  '  Now  there  is  your  four  waterin'  places  for  you ;  stick  to  'em, 
don't  go  ramblin'  about  to  every  place  in  the  kingdom,  a'most,  and 
sp'ile  'em  all.  We  well  folks  will  stick  to  our  own,  and  let  you  be  ; 
and  you  ill  folks  must  stick  to  your'n,  and  you  may  get  well,  or  hop 
the  twig,  or  do  what  you  like  ;  and  we'll  keep  well,  or  hop  the  broom- 
stick, or  do  anythin'  we  like.  But  let's  dissolve  partnership,  and  di- 
vide the  stock  at  any  rate.  Let  January  be  January,  and  let  May 
be  May.  But  let's  get  a  divorce,  for  we  don't  agree  over  and  above 
well.' 

"  Strange !  Squire,  but  extremes  meet.  When  society  gets  too 
stiff  and  starch,  as  it  is  in  England,  it  has  to  onbind,  slack  up,  and 
get  back  to  natur.'  Now  these  waterin'  places  are  the  relaxin'  pla- 
ces. They  are  damp  enough  to  take  the  starch  all  out.  Resarve  is 
thrown  off.  It's  bazaar  day  here  all  the  time  ;  pretty  little  articles 
to  be  sold  at  high  prices-  Fashion  keeps  the  stalls,  and  fools  are  the 
purchasers.  You  may  suit  yourself  with  a  wife  here  if  you  are  in 
want  of  such  a  piece  of  furniture ;  or  if  you  can't  suit  yourself,  you 
may  get  one,  at  any  rate.  You  can  be  paired,  if  you  don't  get 
matched,  and  some  folks  think  if  critturs  have  the  same  action,  that's 
all  that's  wanted  in  matin*  beasts.  Suitin'  is  difficult.  Matrimony 
is  either  heaven  or  hell.  It's  happiness  or  misery ;  so  be  careful. 
But  there  is  plenty  of  critturs,  such  as  they  be,  in  market  here.  If 
you  are  rich,  and  want  a  poor  gal  to  spend  your  cash,  here  she  is, 
ready  and  willin' — flash  edicated,  clap-trap  accomplishments — ex- 
travagant as  old  Nick — idees  above  her  station — won't  stand  haglin* 
long  about  your  looks,  she  don't  care  for  'em ;  she  wants  the  car- 
riage, the ,  the  town-house,  the  park,  and  the  tin.     If  you  are 

poor,  or  got  an  estate  that's  dipt  up  to  the  chin,  and  want  the  one 
thing  needful,  there's  an  heiress-  She  is  of  age  now — don't  care  a 
snap  of  her  finger  for  her  guardian — would  like  a  title,  but  must  be 
married,  and  so  will  take  you,  if  you  get  yourself  up  well.  She  likes 
a  handsum  man. 

"  Everythin'  here  is  managed  to  bring  folks  together.  The  shop 
must  be  made  attractive  now,  or  there  is  no  custom.  Look  at 
that  chap  a-comin'  along,  he  is  a  popular  preacher.  The  turf,  club, 
and  ball-managers  have  bribed  him ;  for  he  preaches  agin  horse- 


SEE 


820 


THE  ATTACH^:;   OR, 


\     \ 


racin',  and  dancin',  and  dress,  and  music,  and  parties,  and  gaieties, 
^ith  all  liis  might  and  main  ;  calls  the  course  the  Devil's  common, 
and  the  Assembly-room  Old  Nick's  levee.  Well,  he  preaches  so 
violent,  and  raves  so  like  mad  ngin  'em,  it  sets  all  the  young  folks 
crazy  to  go  arter  this  forbidden  fruit,  right  oflF  the  reel,  and  induces  old 
folks  to  fetch  their  gals  where  such  good  doctrine  is  taught.  There  ia 
no  trick  of  modem  times  equal  to  it.  It's  actilly  the  makin'  of  the 
town.  Then  it  jist  suits  all  old  gals  that  have  given  up  the  flash  lino 
and  gay  line,  as  their  lines  got  no  bites  to  their  hooks  all  the  time 
they  fished  with  them,  and  have  taken  the  serious  line,  and  are  ang- 
lin'  arter  good  men,  pious  men,  and  stupid  men,  that  fancy  bein'  stu- 
pid is  bein'  righteous.  So  all  these  vinegar  cruits  get  on  the  side- 
board together,  cut  out  red  flannel  for  the  poor,  and  caps  for  old 
women,  and  baby-clothes  for  little  children ;  and  who  go  with  the 
good  man  in  their  angel  visits  to  the  needy,  till  they  praise  each 
other's  goodness  so  they  think  two  such  lumps  of  goodness,  if  j'ined, 
would  make  a'most  a  beautiful  large  almighty  lump  of  it,  and  they 
marry.  Ah !  here  comes  t'other  feller.  There  is  the  popular  doc- 
tor. What  a  dear  man  he  is  ! — the  old  like  him,  and  the  young  like 
him ;  the  good  like  him,  and  the  not  so  gooder  like  him ;  the  well 
like  him,  and  the  ill  like  him,  and  everybody  likes  him.  He  never 
lost  a  patient  yet.  Lots  of  'em  have  died,  but  then  they  came  there 
on  purpose  to  die  ;  they  were  done  for  in  London,  and  sent  to  him 
to  put  out  of  pain ;  but  he  never  lost  one  since  he  was  knee-high  to  a 
goose.  He  onderstands  delicate  young  gals'  complaints  most  beautiful 
that  aint  well,  and  are  brought  here  for  the  waters.  He  knows  nothin' 
is  the  matter  of  'em  but  the  visitin  fever  ;*  but  he  don't  let  on  to  no- 
body, and  don't  pretend  to  know;  so  he  tells  Ma'  she  must  not 
thwart  her  dear  gal :  she  is  narvous,  and  won't  bear  contradiction- 
she  must  be  amused,  and  have  her  own  way.  He  prescribes  a  dose 
every  other  night  of  two  pills,  made  of  one  grain  of  flour,  two  grains 
of  sugar,  and  five  drops  of  water,  a-goin  to  bed ;  and — that  its  so 
prepared  she  can't  take  cold  arter  it,  for  there  ain't  one  bit  of  horrid 
mercury  in  it.  Then  he  whispers  to  Miss  'dancin'  is  good  exercise; 
spirits  must  be  kept  up  by  company.  All  natur  is  cheerful;  why 
shouldn't  young  gals  be  ?  Canary  birds  and  young  ladies  were  never 
made  for  cages  ;  tho'  fools  make  cages  for  them  sometimes.'  The  gal 
is  delighted  and  better,  and  the  mother  is  contented  and  happy. 
They  both  recommend  the  doctor,  who  charges  cussed  high,  and  so 
he  ought :  he  made  a  cure,  and  he  is  paid  with  great  pleasure.  There 
is  another  lady,  a  widder,  ill,  that  sends  for  him.  He  sees  what  she 
wants  with  half  an  eye,  he  is  so  used  to  symptoms.  She  wants 
gossip.  '  AVho  is  Mr.  Adam  ?'  sais  she.  '  Is  he  of  the  family  of 
old  Adam,  or  of  the  new  family  of  Adam,  that  lives  to  Manchester?* 
*  Qh,  yes !  the  family  is  older  than  sin,  and  as  rich  too,"  sais  he. 
'Who  is  that  lady  he  walked  with  yesterday?'    'Oh I  sAe  is  mar- 


SAM  SLICK   IN   ENGLAND. 


321 


rled,'  sais  doctor.  Widder  is  better  directly.  '  The  sight  of  you, 
dear  doctor,  has  done  me  good ;  it  haa  revived  my  spirita :  do  coll 
agin.'  ♦  It's  all  on  the  narvcs,  my  I'lur  widder,'  eais  he.  '  Take  two 
of  these  bread  and  sugar  pills,  you  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two; 
and,  before  goin'  into  company,  take  a  table  spoonful  of  this  mixture. 
It's  a  new  exilaratin'  sedative'  (which  means  it's  a  dram  of  parfumcd 
spirits).  '  Oh !  you  will  feel  as  charmin'  as  you  look.*  Widder 
takes  the  mixture  that  even  in',  and  is  so  brilliant  in  her  talk,  and  so 
sparklin'  in  her  eyes,  old  Adam  is  in  love  with  her,  and  is  in  a  fair 
way  to  have  his  flint  fixed  by  this  innocent  Eve  of  a  widder.  No 
sooner  out  of  widder's  house  than  a  good  lady  sends  for  him.  He 
laments  the  gaiety  of  the  town — it's  useless  for  him  to  contend 
against  the  current :  he  can  only  lament.  How  can  invalids  stand 
constant  excitement  ?  Tells  a  dreadful  tale  of  distress  of  a  poor  or- 
phan family,  (not  foundlin's,  and  he  groans  to  think  there  should  be 
such  a  word  as  a  foundlin' ;  for  doctors  ain't  sent  for  to  announce 
their  arrival  to  town,  but  only  ugly  old  nurses,)  but  children  of  pious 
Christian  parents.  He  will  introduce  the  Rev.  Mr.  Abel,  of  the 
next  parish,  a  worthy  young  man  (capital  living,  and  great  expecta- 
tions) :  he  will  show  you  where  the  family  is.  '  Is  his  wife  with 
him  ?*  '  Oh,  Lord  love  you  I  he  is  not  married,  or  engaged  either !' 
The  good  lady  is  better  already.  '  Good  bye !  dear  doctor ;  pray 
come  soon  agin  and  see  me.' 

"  He  is  a  cautious  man — a  prudent  man — a  'cute  man,  he  always 
writes  the  rich  man's  London  Physician,  and  approves  of  all  he  has 
done.  That  doctor  sends  him  more  dyin'  men,  next  train,  to  give 
the  last  bleedin'  to.  It  don't  do  to  send  your  patients  to  a  crittur 
tha*  ondervalues  you,  it  tante  sale.  It  might  hurt  you  to  have  a 
feller  goin'  out  of  the  world  thinkin'  you  had  killed  him,  and  a-roarin' 
at  you  like  mad,  and  callin'  you  every  name  he  could  lay  his  tongue 
to,  it's  enough  to  ruin  practice.  Doctor,  therefore,  is  punctilious  and 
gentleman-like,  he  ain't  parsonal,  he  praises  every  London  doctor 
individually  and  separately,  and  only  d — ns  'em  all  in  a  lump. 
There  is  a  pic-nic,  if  you  like.  That  will  give  you  a  chance  to  see 
the  gals,  and  to  flirt.  There's  an  old  ruin  to  visit  and  to  sketch,  and 
there's  that  big  castle  ;  there's  the  library  and  the  fruit-shop,  and  I 
don't  know  what  all :  there's  everything  a'most  all  the  time,  and 
what's  better,  new-comers  every  day.  I  can't  say  all  this  jist  exactly 
comes  up  to  the  notch  for  me.  It  may  suit  you,  Squire,  all  this, 
but  it  don't  altogether  suit  my  taste,  for,  in  the  fust  place,  it  tante 
always  fust  chop  society  there.  I  don't  see  the  people  of  high  life 
here  jist  as  much  as  I'm  used  .o  in  my  circles,  unless  they  're  sick,  and 
then  they  don't  want  to  see  me,  and  I  don't  want  to  see  them.  And 
in  the  next  place,  I  can't  shake  hands  along  with  death  all  the  time 
without  gettin'  the  cold  shivers.  I  don't  mind  old  fellers  goin'  oif 
the  hook  a  bit,  'cause  it's  in  the  course  of  natur'.    Arter  a  critter 

14* 


322 


THE  ATTACHE;  OR, 


i 

■J 

I    f 


can't  enjoy  his  money,  it's  time  he  took  himself  off,  and  left  it  to 
some  one  that  can ;  and  I  don't  mind  your  dissipated  chaps,  who  have 
brought  it  on  'emselves,  for  it  sarves  'em  right,  and  I  don't  pity  'em 
one  mossel.  That  old  sodger  officer,  now,  with  claret-colored  cheeks, 
who  the  plague  cares  about  him  ?  he  ain't  no  good  for  war,  he  is  so 
short-winded  and  gouty ;  and  ain't  no  good  for  peace,  he  quarrels  so 
all  day.  Now  if  he'd  step  off,  some  young  feller  would  jist  step  in, 
that's  all.  And  there's  that  old  nabob  there.  Look  at  the  curry 
powder  and  mullgatony  soup  a-peepin'  through  his  skin.  That 
feller  exchanged  his  liver  for  gold.  WeJl,  it's  no  consarn  of  mine. 
I  wish  him  joy  of  his  bargain,  that's  ali,  and  that  I  had  his  rupees 
when  he  is  done  with  'em.  The  worms  will  have  a  tough  job  of 
him,  I  guess,  he's  so  dried  with  spices  and  cayenne.  It  tante  that  I 
am  afeerd  to  face  death,  though,  for  I  ain't,  but  I  don't  like  it,  that's 
all.  I  don't  like  assyfittety,  but  I  ain't  afeerd  on  it — Fear !  Lord  I 
a  man  that  goes  to  Missarsippi  like  me,  and  can  run  an  Alligator 
steamer  right  head  on  to  a  Sawyer,  high  pressure  engine,  valve 
sawdered  down,  three  hundred  passengers  on  board,  and  every  soul 
in  danger,  ain't  a  coward.  It  takes  a  man,  Squire,  I  tell  you.  No, 
I  ain't  afeerd,  and  I  ain't  spooney  nother ;  and  though  I  don't  like 
to  see  'em,  it  don't  sp'ile  my  sleep  none,  that's  a  fact.  But  there  is 
folks  here,  that  a  feller  wouldn't  be  the  sixteenth  part  of  z  ra^n  if  he 
didn't  feel  for  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  Look  over  there,  now, 
on  that  bench.  Do  you  see  that  most  beautiful  gal  there  ? — ain't 
she  lovely  ?  How  lily  fair  she  is,  and  what  a  delicate  color  she  has 
on  her  cheek  ;  that  ain't  too  healthy  and  coarse,  but  interestin'-like, 
and  in  good  taste,  not  strong  contrasts  of  red  and  white,  like  a  milk- 
maid, but  jist  touched  by  nature's  own  artist's  brush,  blended,  runnin' 
onie  into  the  other  so,  you  can't  tell  where  one  eends  and  t'other 
begins !  And  then  her  hair,  how  full  and  rich,  and  graceful  them 
auburn  locks  be !  ain't  they?  That  smile  too !  it's  kinder  melancholy 
sweet,  and  plays  round  the  mouth,  sort  of  subdued  like  moonlight. 
But  the  eye,  how  mild  and  brilliant,  and  intelligent  and  good  it  is ! 
Now,  that's  what  I  call  an  angel,  that.  Well,  as  sure  as  you  and  I 
are  a-talkin',  she  is  goin'  to  heaven  afore  long.  I  know  that  gal,  and 
I  dctilly  love  her — 1  do,  indeed.  I  don't  mean  as  to  courtin'  of  her, 
for  she  wouldn't  have  the  like  of  me  on  no  account.  She  is  too 
good  for  me  or  any  other  feller  that's  knocked  about  the  world  as  I 
have.  Angels  didn't  visit  the  airth  arter  sin  got  in,  and  one  o'  my 
spicy  stoiies,  or  flash  oaths,  would  kill  her  dead.  She  is  more  fitter 
to  worship  p'raps  than  love ;  but  I  love  her,  for  she  is  so  lovely,  so 
good,  so  mild,  so  innocent,  so  clever.     Oh !  what  a  dear  she  is. 

"  Now,  that  gal  is  a-goin'  to  die  as  sure  as  the  world ;  she  is  in  a 
consumption,  and  that  does  flatter  so  soft,  and  tantalizes  so  cruel,  it's 
dreadful.  It  pulls  down  to-night,  and  sots  up  to-morrow.  It  comes 
with  smiles  and  hopes,  and  graces,  but  all  the  time  it's  insinuatiu 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


823 


itself,  and  it  feeds  on  the  inside  till  it's  all  holler  like,  and  then  to 
hide  its  murder,  it  paints,  and  rouges,  and  sets  off  the  outside  so 
handsum,  no  soul  would  believe  it  was  at  work.  *  Vice  imitates 
vartue,'  Minister  sais,  but  consumption  imitates  health,  I  tell  you, 
and  no  mistake.  Oh !  when  death  comes  that  way,  it  comes  in  its 
worst  disguise,  to  my  eye,  of  all  its  masks,  and  veils,  and  hoods,  and 
concealments,  it  has.  Yes,  she'll  die  I  And  then  look  at  the  lady 
alongside  of  her.  Handsum  woman,  too,  that,  even  now,  tho'  she  is 
considerable  older.  Weil,  that's  her  mother — ain't  she  to  be  pitied, 
poor  crittur  ?  Oh !  how  anxious  she  watches  that  leetle  pet  of  her 
heart.  One  day,  she  is  sure  she  is  better,  and  tells  her  so,  and  the 
gal  thinks  so,  too,  and  they  are  both  happy.  Next  day,  mother  sees 
somethin'  that  knocks  away  all  her  hope,  but  she  don't  breathe  it  to 
no  one  livin' ;  keeps  up  all  day  before  sick  one,  cheerful-like,  but 
goes  to  bed  at  night,  and  cries  her  soul  out  a'most,  hopin'  and  fearin', 
submittin*  and  rebellin',  prayin'  and  despairin',  weepin'  and  rejoicin', 
and  goin*  from  one  extreme  to  t'other  till  natur'  gets  wearied,  and 
falls  asleep.  Oh !  what  a  life  is  the  poor  mother's,  what  a  death  is 
the  poor  darter's !  I  don't  know  whether  I  pity  that  gal  or  not ; 
sometimes  I  think  I  do,  and  then  I  think  I  pity  myself,  selfish  like, 
that  such  a  pure  spirit  should  leave  the  airth,  for  it's  sartin  she  is 
goin'  to  a  better  world ;  a  world  better  fitted  for  her,  too,  and  havin* 
bein's  in  it  more  like  herself  than  we  be.  But,  poor  mother !  there 
is  no  mistake  about  her ;  I  do  pity  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
What  hopes  cut  off!  what  aftections  torn  down !  fruit,  branch,  and 
all,  bone  of  her  bone,  flesh  of  her  flesh,  all  her  care  gone,  all  her 
wishes  closed  for  ever,  all  her  fears  come  true  and  sartin  (and 
it's  a  great  matter  to  lose  anythin'  we  have  had  trouble  with,  or 
anxiety  about,  for  we  get  accustomed  to  trouble  and  anxiety,  and-miss 
it  when  it's  gone).  Then,  there's  the  world  to  come,  for  the  mind 
to  go  a-wanderin',  and  spekilatin'  in  a  great  sea  without  shores  or 
stars ;  we  have  a  compass — that  we  have  faith  in  !  but  still  it's  a 
fearful  voyage.  And  then  there  is  the  world  we  live  in,  and  objects 
we  know  to  think  of;  there  is  the  crawlin'  worm  and  the  horrid  toad, 
and  the  shockin'  earwig,  and  vile  corruption ;  and  every  storm  that 
comes  we  think  that  those  we  loved  and  lost,  are  exposed  to  its 
fury.  Oh !  it's  dreadful.  I  guess  them  wounds  ain't  never  quite 
cured.  Limbs  that  are  cut  off' still  leave  their  feelivH  behind — the  foot 
fains  arter  the  leg  is  gone.  Dreams  come,  too,  and  dreams  are  al- 
ways with  the  dead,  au  if  they  were  Uvin\  It  tante  often  we  dream 
of  the  dead  as  dead,  but  as  livin'  bein's,  for  we  can't  realize  death. 
Then,  mornin'  dawns,  and  we  start  up  in  bed,  and  find  it  is  only  a 
dream,  and  lam  that  death  is  a  fact,  and  not  fancy.  Few  men  know 
what  woman  suffers,  but  it's  only  God  above  that  knows  the  sufferin's 
of  a  mother. 

"  It  tante  every  one  sees  all  this,  but  I  see  it  all  as  plain  as  preach- 


^^^ 


324 


THE  ATTACHE;   OB, 


in';  I  most  wish  sometimes  I  didn't.  I  know  the  human  heart 
full  better  than  is  good  for  me,  I'm  a-thinkin'.  Let  a  man  or  wo- 
man come  and  talk  to  me,  or  let  me  watch  their  sayin's  and  dcin's  a 
few  minutes,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  'em  right  off  as  easy  as  big 
print.  I  can  read  'em  like  a  book,  and  mind,  I  tell  you,  there's 
many  a  shockin'  bad  book  in  very  elegant  gold  biudm',  full  of  what 
aint  fit  to  be  read ;  and  there's  many  a  i-ael  good  work  in  very  mean 
sheepskin  covers.  The  most  beautiful  ones  is  women's.  In  a  gineral 
way,  mind,  I  tell  you,  the  paper  is  pure  white,  and  what's  wrote  in 
it  is  good  penmanship  and  good  dictionary.  I  love  'em — no  man 
ever  loved  dear  innocent  gals  as  I  do,  'cause  I  know  how  dear  and 
innocent  they  be — ^but  man— oh !  there  is  many  a  black,  dirty,  nasty 
horrid  sheet  in  his'n.  Yes,  I  know  human  natur'  too  much  for  my 
own  good,  I  am  afeerd  sometimes.  Such  is  life  in  a  Waterin*  Placej 
Squire.  Idon^t  like  it.  The  ill  make  me  ill,  and  the  gay  dorSt  make 
me  gay — that^s  a  fact.  1  like  a  place  that  is  pleasant  of  itself,  but  not 
a  place  where  pleasure  is  a  business,  and  where  that  pleasure  is  to  be 
looked  for  among  the  dyirC  and  tJie  dead.  No^  JdonH  like  a  WcUerin' 
Place/" 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

THE    EARL    OF    TUNBRIDGE. 

"  Squire,"  said  Mr,  Slick,  "  I  am  afeerd  father  is  a  little  wrong 
in  the  head.  He  goes  away  by  himself  and  stays  all  the  momin', 
and  when  he  returns  refuses  to  tell  me  where  he  has  been,  and  if  I 
go  for  to  press  him,  he  gets  as  mad  as  a  hatter.  He  has  spent  a 
shocking  sight  of  money  here.  But  that  aint  the  worst  of  it  nother, 
he  seems  to  have  lost  his  onderst^ndin'  too.  He  xnutters  to  himself 
by  the  hour,  and  then  suddenly  springs  up  and  struts  about  the  room 
as  proud  as  a  peacock,  and  sings  out — *  Clear  the  way  for  the  Lord  !* 
Sometimes  I've  thought  the  Irvinites  had  got  hold  of  him,  and  some- 
times that  he  is  mesmerized,  and  then  I'm  afeerd  some  woman  or 
another  has  got  an  eye  on  him  to  marry  him.  He  aint  quite  him- 
self, that's  sartin.  The  devil  take  the  legation,  I  say  I  I  wish  in 
my  soul  I  had  stayed  to  Nova  Scotia  a-vendin'  of  clocks,  and  then 
this  poor,  dear  old  man  wouldn't  have  gone  mad  as  he  has.  He 
came  to  me  this  momin',  lookin'  quite  wild,  and  lockin'  the  door  arter 
him,  sot  down  and  stared  me  in  the  face  for  the  matter  of  five  min- 
utes without  speakin'  a  blessed  word,  and  then  bust  out  a-lai'fiu  like 
^Hiythin'. 

Sam,'  sais  he,  *  I  wish  you'd  marry.'  _ 


(((: 


SAM  SLICK  IN   ENGLAND. 


825 


"  *  Many,'  sais  I,  *  why  what  on  airth  do  I  want  of  a  wife,  father?* 

"  *  I  have  my  reasons,  Sir,'  sais  he,  '  and  that's  enough.' 

*' '  Well,'  sais  I,  *  I  have  my  reasons,  Sir,  agin  it,  and  that's  enough. 
I  won't.' 

"'You  won't.  Sir?' 

"'No,  Sir,  I  won't.' 

" '  Then  I  discard  you,  Sam.  You  are  no  longer  a  son  of  mine. 
Begone,  Sir  1' 

" '  Father,'  sais  I,  and  I  bust  out  a  cryin',  for  I  couldn't  hold  in  no 
longer — '  Father,'  sais  I, '  dear  father,  what  ails  you, — what  makes 
you  act  so  like  a  ravin'  distracted  bed  bug  ?'  I  do  believe  in  my 
soul  you  are  possess't.  Now  do  tell  me,  that's  a  dear,  what  makes 
you  want  me  to  marry  ?' 

" '  Sam,'  sais  he, '  what  brought  me  here,  now  jist  tell  me  that,  will 
you?' 

" '  Ay,  father,'  sais  I, '  what  did  bring  you  here,  for  that's  what  I 
want  to  know  ?' 

" '  Guess,  Sam,'  sais  he. 

" '  Well,  sais  I,  *  to  see  me  I  s'pose  a-movin'  in  high  life.' 

«'No.' 

" '  Well,  to  establish  a  trade  in  beef  onder  the  new  tariff.* 

« '  No.' 

" '  Well,  in  lard-ile,  for  that's  a  great  business  now.* 

" '  No,  it's  none  o'  these  things,  so  guess  agin.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I, '  Father,  I'm  most  afeerd,  tho'  I  don't  like  to  hint 
it ;  but  I'm  most  afeerd  you  are  a-goin'  to  spekilate  in  matrimony, 
seein*  that  you  are  a  widower  now  these  five  years  past.' 

" '  Sam,'  sais  he,  *  you  are  a  born  fool,'  and  then  risin*  up  quite 
dignified, '  do  you  think.  Sir,  I  have  taken  leave  of  my  senses  ?' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  dear  father,  I'm  most  thinkiu'  you  have,  and 
that's  a  fact.' 

" '  So  you  think  I'm  mad,  do  you.  Sir  ?' 

"  *  Well,  not  'xactly,'  sais  I, '  but  raelly,  now,  I  don't  think  you  are 
quite  right  in  your  mind.* 

" '  You  scoundrel  you,'  sais  he,  *  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?* 

" '  Yes,  Sir,'  sais  I,  '  you  are  father,  at  least  mother  told  me  so.' 

"  *  Well,  Sir,  she  told  you  right,  1  am  your  father,  and  a  pretty 
ondutiful  son  I  have,  too ;  but  I  don't  mean  that,  do  you  know  who 
lam?' 

"'Yes,  Sir,  Lieut-Col.  Slick,  of  SlickviUe,  the  Bunker  Hill  hero.* 

" '  I  am.  Sir,'  sais  he,  a-drawin'  himself  up, '  and  most  the  only  one 
now  livin'  that  seed  that  great  and  glorious  battle ;  but  do  you  know 
what  I  am  ?' 

" '  Yes,  Sir ;  dear  old  father  gone  as  mad  as  a  March  hare.' 

" '  You  almighty  villain/  sais  he,  *  who  are  you  j  do  you  know 
tha^?* 


826 


THE  ATTACHE  ;   OB, 


•    "  *  Your  son,'  sais  I.  ' 

"*  Yes,  but  who  are  youT 

*^^1  am  Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker,'  sais  I,  *at  least  what  is  left 
of  me.' 

"  *  You  are  no  such  a  thing,'  sais  he ;  *  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am,  and 
what  you  are.  Get  up  you,  miserable  skunk,  and  take  off  your  hat, 
clear  the  way  for  the  Lord.  I  am  the  Earl  of  Tunbridge,  and  you 
are  Lord  Van  Shleek,  my  eldest  son.  Go  down  on  your  knees.  Sir, 
and  do  homage  to  your  father,  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of 
Tunbridge.' 

" '  Oh,  father,  father,'  sais  I,  *  my  heart  is  broke,  I  wish  I  was 
dead,  only  to  think  that  you  should  carry  on  this  way,  and  so  far 
from  home,  too,  and  before  entire  strangers.  What  on  airth  put  that 
are  crotchet  into  your  head  ?' 

" '  Providence,  Sam,  and  the  instinct  of  our  Sal.  In  lookin'  over 
our  family  papers,  of  father  and  his  father,  she  found  we  are  de- 
scendants of  General  Van  Shleek,  that  came  over  with  King  William 
the  Dutchman,  when  he  conquered  England,  and  was  created  Airl 
of  Tunbridge,  as  a  reward  for  his  heroic  deeds.  Well,  in  course,  the 
Van  Shleeks  came  over  from  Holland  and  settled  near  him,  and  my 
grandfather  was  a  son  of  the  first  Lord's  third  brother,  and  bein' 
poor,  emigrated  to  America.  Well,  in  time  the  Peerage  got  dormant 
for  want  of  an  heir,  and  we  bein'  in  America,  and  our  name  gettin' 
iltered  into  Slick,  that  everlastin'  tyrant  George  the  Third,  gave 
away  the  estate  to  a  favorite.  This,  Sir,  is  as  clear  as  preachin',  and 
I  have  come  over  to  claim  my  rights.  Do  you  onderstand  that.  Sir  ? 
you  degenerate  son  of  a  race  of  heroes !  What  made  my  veins  b'ile 
over  at  Bunker  Hill  ? — The  blood  of  the  Van  Shleeks !  What  made 
me  charge  the  British  at  Peach  Orchard,  and  Mud  Creek  ? — The 
blood  of  the  Van  Shleeks !  What  made  me  a  hero  and  a  gentle- 
man ? — The  nobility  that  was  in  me !  I  feel  it.  Sir,  I  feel  it  here,* 
puttin'  his  hand  on  his  side,  *  I  feel  it  here,  beatin'  at  my  heart  now, 
old  as  I  am,  like  a  tattoo  on  a  drum. — I  am  the  rael  Airl  of  Tun- 
bridge.' 

" '  Oh,  dear,  dear,'  sais  I, '  was  the  like  of  this  ever  heerd  tell  of 
afore  ?' 

" '  Heerd  of  afore  ?'  sais  he, '  to  be  sure  it  has  been.  America  was 
settled  by  younger  sons,  and  in  time  all  the  great  estates  have  come 
to  'em,  but  they  have  been  passed  over — forgotten — unknown — or 
cheated.  Webster,  Sir,  owns  Battle  Abbey,  and  is  intarmined  to 
have  it,  and  he  is  a  man  that  knows  the  law,  and  can  plead  his  own 
case.  Tliere  can't  be  no  manner  of  doubt  our  great  author  Cooper 
is  the  rael  Airl  of  Shaftesbury.  A  friend  of  mine  here,  who  knows 
all  about  estates  and  titles,  told  me  so  himself,  and  says  for  five 
pounds  he  could  put  liim  on  the  right  track ;  and  he  is  a  man  can  be 
depended  on,  for  he  has  helped  many  a  feller  to  his  rights.     Yog'd 


SAM  SLICK  m  ENGLAND. 


827 


be  astonished  if  you  know'd  how  many  of  our  folks  are  noblemen,  or 
related  to  'em  very  near.  How  can  it  be  otherwise  in  natur'  ?  How 
did  they  come  by  the  same  name  if  they  wam't  ?  The  matter  of 
five  pounds,  my  friend  says,  will  do  a  good  deal,  sometimes,  provided 
it's  done  secret.  In  all  these  things,  mum's  the  word ; — no  blartin' — 
no  cacklin'  afore  layin'  the  egg,  but  as  silent  as  the  grave.  Airl  of 
Tunbridge  ?  it  don't  sound  bad,  does  it  ?' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I, '  father,'  for  I  found  opposite  wouldn't  do  no  long- 
er ; — ^  well,'  sais  I, '  father,  it  might  be  so  in  your  case  arter  all.* 

" '  Might  be  so !'  sais  he ;  '  I  tell  you  it  is  so.* 

*' '  Well,  I  hope  so,'  sais  I,  '  but  I  feel  overcome  with  the  news ; 
s'posin'  we  go  to  bed  now,  and  we  will  talk  it  over  to-morrow.* 

" '  Well,'  sais  he, '  if  you  can  sleep  arter  this,  go  to  bed,  but  Sam, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  sleep  with  General  Wellington,  and  talk  him 
over ;  I  don't  care  a  d — n  for  the  Airl  of  Tunbridge,  I  want  to 
change  it.  I  want  the  title  to  be  Bunker  Hill,  as  he  is  of  Waterloo. 
We  are  two  old  veteran  heroes,  and  ought  to  be  two  great  nobs  to- 
gether. Sleep  with  him,  Sam,  for  Heaven's  sake.  And  now,*  sais 
he,  risin',  and  takin'  the  candle,  *  open  the  door,  Sir,  and  clear  the 
way  for  the  Lord .' 

"Oh,  dear!  dear;  I  am  almost  crazed  myself,  Squire — aint  it 
shockin'  ?"  He  was  evidently  very  much  distressed,  I  had  never 
seen  him  so  much  moved  before,  and  therefore  endeavored  to  soothe 
him  as  well  as  I  could. 

"  Stranger  things  than  that  have  happened,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Slick. 
It  is  possible  your  father  may  be  right,  after  all,  although  the  proof 
to  substantiate  his  claim  may  be  unattainable.  It  is  not  probable, 
certainly,  but  it  is  by  no  means  impossible." 

"  Then  you  think  there  may  be  something  in  it,  do  you  ?" 

"  Unquestionably  there  may  be,  but  1  do  not  think  there  is." 

"  But  you  think  there  may  be — eh  ?" 

"  Certainly,  there  may  be." 

After  a  long  pause,  he  said :  "  I  don't  think  so  either.  Squire :  I 
believe  it's  only  his  ravin' ;  but  if  there  was,"  striking  his  fist  on  the 
table  with  great  energy,  "  by  the  'tarnal,  I'd  spend  every  cent  I  have 
in  the  world,  to  have  my  rights.  No,  there  is  nothin*  in  it,  but  if 
there  was,  I'd  have  it  if  I  died  for  it.  Airl  of  Tunbridge  1  well,  it 
ain't  so  coarse,  is  it  ?  I  wonder  if  the  estate  would  come  back  too, 
for  to  my  mind,  a  title  without  the  rael  grit,  aint  worth  much, — is  it  ? 
Airl  of  Tunbridge ! — heavens  and  airth  1  if  I  had  it,  wouldn't  I  make 
your  fortin,  that's  all ;  I  hope  I  may  be  shot  if  I'd  forget  old  friends. 
Lord  1  I'd  make  you  Governor-Gineral  to  Canady,  for  you  are  jist 
the  boy  that's  fit  for  it — or  Lord  Nova  Scotia ;  for  why  shouldn't 
colonists  come  in  for  their  share  of  good  things  as  well  as  these 
d — ned  monopolists  here ;  or  any  thin'  you  pleased  a'most.  Airl  of 
Ti^bridge ! — Oh,  it's  all  nonsense,  it  can't  be  true  1     The  old  man 


"H#^<  IPI  i^ll^lllfni) 


828 


THE  ATTACHE;    OR, 


was  always  mad  upon  somethin'  or  another,  and  now  he  is  mad  on 
this  p'int.  ,  I  must  try  to  drive  it  out  of  his  head,  that  is,  if  it  hante 
no  bottom ;  but  if  it  has,  I'm  jist  the  boy  to  hang  on  to  it,  till  I  get 
it,  that's  a  fact.  Well,  there  may  be  somethin'  in  it,  as  you  say, 
arter  all.  I'll  tell  you  what,  there's  no  harm  in  inquirin',  at  any 
rate.    I'll  look  into  the  story  of  the  '  Airl  of  Tunbridge.' " 


(/  PTER   LX. 


ENGLISH    GENTLEMEN. 


As  we  were  sitting  on  tiie  ox  tee  benches  in  the  park,  at  Rich- 
mond, to-day,  a  livery  servant  passod  us,  with  an  air  of  self-posses- 
sion and  importance  that  indicated  the  easy  dependence  of  his  con- 
dition, and  the  rank  or  affluence  of  his  master. 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  is  what  I  call '  a  rael  English  gentleman,' 
now.  He  lives  in  a  grand  house,  is  well  clad,  well  fed;  lots*  of  lush 
to  drink,  devilish  little  to  do,  and  no  care  about  corn  laws,  free- 
trade,  blowed-up  bankers,  run-away  lawyers,  smashed-down  tenants, 
nor  nothin'.  The  mistress  is  kind  to  him,  'cause  he  is  the  son  of  her 
old  nurse ;  and  the  master  is  kind  to  him  'cause  his  father  and 
grandfather  lived  with  his  father  and  grand-father ;  and  the  boys  are 
kind  to  him,  'cause  he  always  takes  their  part ;  and  the  maids  are 
kind  to  him,  'cause  he  is  a  plaguy  handsome,  free  and  easy  feller 
(and  women  always  like  handsum  men,  and  impedent  men,  though 
they  vow  they  don't)  ;  and  the  butler  likes  him,  'cause  he  can  drink 
like  a  gentleman  and  never  get  drunk.  His  master  has  to  attend 
certain  hours  in  the  House  of  Lords  :  he  has  to  attend  certain  hours 
in  his  master's  house.  There  ain't  much  difference,  is  there?  His 
master  loses  his  place  if  the  Ministry  goes  out ;  but  he  holds  on  to 
his'n  all  the  same.  Which  has  the  best  of  that  ?  His  master  takes 
the  tour  of  Europe,  so  does  he.  His  master  makes  all  the  arrange- 
ments and  pays  all  the  expenses;  he  don't  do  either.  Which  is 
master  or  servant  here  ?  His  young  master  falls  in  love  with  an 
Italian  opera  gal,  who  expects  enormous  presents  from  him ;  he  falls 
in  love  with  the  bar-maid,  who  expects  a  kiss  from  him.  One  is 
loved  for  his  money,  the  other  for  his  good  looks.  Who  is  the  best 
off?  When  his  master  returns,  he  has  lai'ned  where  the  Alps  is, 
and  which  side  of  them  Rome  is ;  so  has  he.  Who  is  the  most  im- 
proved ?  Whenever  it  rains,  his  master  sighs  for  the  sunny  sky  of 
Italy,  and  quotes  Rogers  and  Byron.  He  d — ns  the  climate  of 
England  in  the  vernacular  tongue,  relies  on  his  own  authority,  a^d 


TF^oWt^M' '"■M-^"'*'  .!,M"ifi**  mw.wiviiwjiiMi   i^ipwrnvip 


free- 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


829 


at  all  events  is  original.  The  only  difference  is,  his  master  calls  the 
castle, '  My  house,'  he  calls  it, '  Our  castle ;'  his  master  says,  *  My 
park,*  and  he  says,  *  Our  park.*  It  is  more  dignified  to  use  the 
plural :  kings  always  do ;  it's  a  royal  phrase,  and  he  has  the  advant- 
age here.  He  is  the  fust  commoner  of  England,  too.  The  sarvants' 
hall  is  the  House  of  Commons.  It  has  its  rights  and  privileges, 
and  is  plaguy  jealous  of  them,  too.  Let  his  master  give  any  of 
them  an  order  out  of  his  line,  and  see  how  soon  he  votes  it  a  breach 
of  privilege.  Let  him  order  the  coachman,  as  the  horses  are  seldom 
used,  to  put  them  to  the  roller,  and  roll  the  lawn.  *  I  can't  do  it, 
Sir ;  I  couldn*t  stand  it,  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it ;  I  should 
be  called  the  rolim'  coachman.'  The  master  laughs ;  he  knows 
prerogative  is  dangerous  ground,  that  an  Englishman  values  Magna 
Charta,  and  says, '  Very  well,  tell  Farmer  Hodge  to  do  it.*  If  a 
vine  that  hides  part  of  the  gable  of  a  coach-house,  busts  its  bondage, 
and  falls  trailin*  on  the  ground,  he  sais, '  John,  you  have  nothin'  to 
do,  it  wouldn't  hurt  you,  when  you  see  such  a  thing  as  this  loose,  to 
nail  it  up.  You  see,  I  often  do  such  things  myself;  I  am  not  above 
it.'  *  Ah  I  it  may  do  for  you,  Sir ;  you  can  do  it  if  you  like,  but  / 
can't ;  I  should  lose  caste ;  I  should  be  called  the  gardener's  coach- 
man.'    '  Well,  well !  you  are  a  blockhead ;  never  mind.' 

"  Look  at  the  lady's-maid ;  she  is  twice  as  handsum  as  her  mis- 
tress, because  she  worked  when  she  was  young,  had  plenty  of  exer- 
cise and  simple  diet,  and  kept  early  hours,  and  is  full  of  health  and 
spirits ;  she  dresses  twice  as  fine,  has  twice  as  many  airs,  uses  twice 
as  hard  words,  and  is  twice  as  proud,  too.  And  what  has  she  to  do? 
Her  mistress  is  one  of  the  maids  in  waitin'  on  the  Queen ;  she  is 
maid  in  waitin'  on  her  mistress.  Who  has  to  mind  her  p's  and  q's 
most,  I  wonder  ?  Her  mistress  don't  often  speak  till  she  is  spoken 
to  in  the  palace ;  she  speaks  when  she  pleases.  Her  mistress  flatters 
delicately ;  she  does  the  same  if  she  chooses,  and  if  not  she  don't 
take  the  trouble.  Her  mistress  is  expected  to  be  affable  to  her 
equals,  considerate  and  kind  to  her  inferiors,  and  humane  and  chari- 
table to  the  poor.  All  sorts  of  things  are  expected  of  and  from  her. 
But  she  can  skrimage  with  her  equals,  be  sarsy  to  her  inferiors,  and 
scorney  to  the  poor  if  she  likes.  It  is  not  her  duty  to  do  all  these 
things,  tho'  it  is  her  mistress's,  and  she  stands  on  her  rights.  Her 
mistress's  interest,  at  court,  is  solicited  where  she  can  do  but  little  at 
last ;  the  world  overvalys  it  amazin'ly.  Her  interest  with  her  mis- 
tress is  axed  for,  where  she  can  do  a  gread  deal.  There  is  no  mis- 
take about  that.  Her  mistress,  when  on  duty,  sais  yes  or  no,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  She  can't  go  wrong  if  she  follows  the  fugleman. 
There  must  be  but  one  opinion  at  the  palace.  The  decision  of  a 
Queen,  like  that  of  a  Pope,  don't  admit  of  no  nonconcurrin'.  But 
she  can  do  as  she  pleases,  and  is  equally  sartin  of  success.  She 
cri^  up  her  mistress's  new  dress,  her  looks,  her  enti«.in'  appearance, 


830 


THE  ATTACH^;   OB, 


her  perfect  elegance.  She  is  agreeable,  and  a  present  rewards  the 
honest  thouglits  of  her  simple  heart.  She  disapproves  the  color,  the 
texture,  the  becomin'ness  of  the  last  new  dress.  It  don't  suit  her 
complexion,  it  don't  set  well,  it  don't  show  off  the  figure,  it's  not  fit 
for  her  lady.  She  says  she  raelly  thinks  so,  and  she  is  seldom  mis- 
taken. The  dress  is  condemned  and  given  to  her :  she  is  safe,  any 
way. — Happy  gal !  remain  as  you  be,  till  the  butt  eend  of  time  :  it's 
better  to  have  a  mistress  than  a  master.  Take  a  fool's  advice  for 
oncet,  and  never  marry ;  whoever  gits  you  will  have  his  hands  full 
in  the  halter-breakin',  I  know;  who  the  devil  could  give  you  a 
mouth,  keep  you  from  shyin',  or  kickin',  or  rearin',  or  boltin'  ?  A 
mistress  has  a  light  bridle-hand,  don't  curb  up  too  short,  and  can 
manage  you  easy  :  but  a  man — Lord  a  massy !  you'd  throw  him  the 
fust  spring  and  kick  you  give,  and  break  his  neck,  I  know. — Oh, 
these  are  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  England ;  these  are  the  people 
for  whom  the  upper  and  lower  orders  were  born — one  to  find  money 
and  the  other  to  work  for  'em.  Next  to  bein'  the  duke,  I'd  sooner 
be  coachman  to  a  gentleman  that  sports  a  four-in-hand  than  anythin* 
I  know  of  to  England :  four  spankin',  sneezin'  bosses  that  knows  how 
to  pick  up  miles  and  throw  'em  behind  'em  in  style — g'long  you 
skunks,  and  turn  out  your  toes  pretty — whist — that's  the  ticket  ;— 
streak  it  off  like  'iled  lightning,  my  fox-tails  :  skrew  it  up  tight,  lock 
down  the  safety-valvQ,  and  clap  all  steam  on,  my  busters ;  don't  touch 
the  ground,  jist  skim  it  like  hawks,  and  leave  no  trail ;  go  a-head 
handsum,  my  old  clays  :  yes !  the  sarvants  are  the  '  Gentlemen  of 
England,'  they  live  like  fightin'  cocks,  and  yet  you  hear  them  infar- 
nal  rascals,  the  Radicals,  callin'  these  indulgent  masters  tyrants, 
endeavorin'  to  make  these  happy  critturs  hate  the  hand  that  feeds 
them,  telling  these  pampered  gentlemen  they  are  robbed  of  their 
rights,  and  how  happy  they'd  all  be  if  they  lost  their  places,  and 
only  had  vote  by  ballot  and  univarsal  suffrage.  What  everlastin* 
d— -d  rascals  they  must  be !" 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell, "  I  am  surprised  at  you.  I  am  shock- 
ed to  hear  you  talk  that  way ;  how  often  must  1  reprove  you  for 
swearing  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  enough  to  make  a  feller  swear,  to  find  critturs  fools 
enough,  rogues  enough,  and  wicked  enough,  to  cut  apart  nateral  ties, 
to  preach  family  treason,  ill-will  and  hatred  among  men." 

"  Nothing  is  so  bad,  Sam,"  he  replied,  "  as  to  justify  swearing. 
Before  we  attempt  to  reform  others,  we  had  better  reform  ourselves; 
a  profane  man  is  a  poor  preacher  of  morality." 

"  I  know  it  is  a  foolish  practice.  Minister,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "and 
I've  ginn  it  over  this  good  while.  I've  never  swore  scarcely  since  I 
heard  that  story  of  the  Governor  to  Nova  Scotia.  One  of  their 
Governors  was  a  military  man,  a  fine,  kind-hearted,  generous  old 
veteran  as  ever  was,  but  he  swore,  every  few  words  he  said,  ^e 


SAM   SLICK   IX  ENGLAND. 


881 


Is  the 
r,  the 
t  her 
ot  fit 
mis- 


I 


anythin' ;  not  profane-like  or  cross,  but  jist  a  handy  sort  of  good- 
humored  oath.     He  kinder  couldn't  help  it. 

"  One  day,  on  board  the  steam-boat  a-crossing  the  harbor  to 
Dartmouth,  I  heerd  the  Squire  here  say  to  him, '  We  ought  to  have 
another  church  to  Halifax,  Sir  Thomas,'  sais  he, '  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Government  House.  St.  Paul's  is  not  half  large 
enough  for  the  congregation.'  '  So  I  think,'  sais  the  Governor, '  and 
I  told  the  Bishop  so ;  but  the  Bishop  sais  to  me, — I  know  that  d — d 
well,  Sir  Thomas,  but  where  the  devil  is  the  money  to  come  from  ? 
If  I  could  find  the  means,  by  G — d !  you  should  soon  have  a  church.' 

"  He  never  could  tell  a  story  without  puttin'  an  oath  into  every 
one's  mouth,  whether  it  was  a  bishop  or  any  one  else.  But  oath  or 
no  oath,  he  was  a  good  old  man  that,  and  he  was  liked  by  every 
man  in  the  province,  except  by  them  it's  no  great  credit  to  be 
praised  by." 

"  Your  apologies,  Sam,"  he  said  "  seldom  mend  the  matter.  Re- 
proving you  makes  you  offend  more ;  it  is  like  interrupting  a  man 
in  speaking  who  wanders  from  his  point,  or  who  is  arguing  wrong ; 
you  only  lose  time ;  for  he  speaks  longer  than  he  otherwise  would. 
I  won't  reprove,  therefore,  but  I  ask  your  forbearance  as  a  favor. 
Yes,  I  agree  with  you  as  to  servants  here, — I  like  the  relative  con- 
dition of  master  and  servant  in  this  country.  There  is  something  to 
an  American  or  a  colonist  quite  touching  in  it— it  is  a  sort  of  patri- 
archal tie.  But  alas !  I  fear  it  is  not  what  it  was ;  as  you  say,  the » 
poison  diffused  through  the  country  by  reformers  and  radicals  has 
done  its  work  ;  it  has  weakened  the  attachment  of  the  servant  to  his 
master;  it  has  created  mutual  distrust,  and  dissolved  in  a  great  mea- 
sure what  I  may  call  the  family  tie  between  them.  Enfeebled  and 
diluted,  however,  as  the  feeling  is  in  general,  it  is  still  so  different 
from  what  exists  among  us,  that  there  is  no  one  thing  whatever  that 
has  come  under  my  observation  that  has  given  me  so  much  gratifica- 
tion as  the  relation  of  master  and  servant — the  kindness  and  pater- 
nal regard  of  the  one,  and  the  affectionate  and  respectful  attachment 
of  the  other.  I  do  not  say  in  all  cases,  because  it  is  going  out ;  it  is 
not  to  be  found  among  the  mushroom  rich — the  cotton  lords,  the 
novi  homines,  et  hoc  genus  omne  ; — ^but  among  the  nobility  and  the 
old  gentry,  and  some  families  of  the  middle  classes,  it  is  still  to  be 
found  in  a  form  that  cannot  be  contemplated  by  a  philanthropist 
without  great  satisfaction.  In  many  cases  the  servants  have  been 
born  on  the  estates,  and  their  forefathers  have  held  the  same  situa- 
tion in  the  family  of  their  master's  ancestors  as  they  do. 

"  Their  interests,  their  traditions,  their  feelings,  and  sympathies 
are  identified  with  those  of  the  '  house.'  They  participate  in  their 
master's  honors,  they  are  jealous  in  supporting  his  rank,  as  if  it  was 
in  part  their  own,  and  they  feel  that  their  advancement  is  connected 
wiih  his  promotion.     They  form  a  class — from  that  class  they  do 


832 


THE   ATTACIiK;   OR, 


h 


not  expect  or  desire  to  be  removed.  Their  hopes  and  afiections, 
iherctbre,  are  blended  with  those  of  their  employers.  With  us  it  is 
always  a  temporary  engagement — hope  looks  beyond  it,  and 
economy  furnishes  the  means  of  extrication.  It  is  like  a  builder's 
contract;  he  furnishes  you  with  certain  work — you  pay  a  certain 
stipulated  price  ;  when  the  engagement  is  fuliilled,  you  have  noth- 
ing further  to  say  to  each  other.  There  is  no  favor  conferred  on 
either  side. 

"  Punctuality,  and  not  thanks  are  expected.  It  is  a  cold  and  mer- 
cenary bargain,  in  which  there  is  a  constant  struggle ;  on  one  side  to 
repress  the  advance  of  familiarity,  and  on  the  other  to  resist  the  en- 
croachments of  pride.  The  market  price  only  is  given  by  the  mas- 
ter, and  of  course  the  least  service  returned,  that  is  compatible  with 
the  terms  of  the  bargain.  The  supply  does  not  equal  the  demand, 
and  the  quality  of  the  article  does  not  correspond  with  the  price. 
Those  who  have  been  servants  seldom  look  back  with  complacency  on 
their  former  masters.  They  feel  no  gratitude  to  them  for  having 
furnished  them  with  the  means  of  succeeding  in  the  world,  but  they 
regard  them  with  dislike,  because  they  are  possessed  of  a  secret 
which  they  would  have  to  be  forgotten  by  all, — that  they  once  were 
household  servants. 

"  As  our  population  becomes  more  dense,  this  peculiarity  will  dis- 
appear, and  the  relation  will  naturally  more  nearly  resemble  that 
.which  exists  in  Europe.  There  has  already  been  a  decided  improve- 
ment within  the  last  twenty  years  from  this  cause.  Yes  1  I  like  the 
relative  condition  of  master  and  servant  here  amazingly — the  kind- 
ness, mildness,  indulgence  and  exactness  of  the  master, — the  cheer- 
fulness, respectfulness,  punctuality  and  regard  of  the  servant, — the 
strength,  the  durability,  and  the  nature  of  the  connection.  As  I  said 
before,  there  is  a  patriarchal  feeling  about  it  that  touches  me.  I 
love  them  both." 

"  Well,  so  do  I  too,'*  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  it's  a  great  comfort  is  a  good 
help  that  onderstands  his  work  and  does  it,  and  ain't  above  it.  I 
must  say  I  don't  like  to  see  a  crittur  sit  down  when  I'm  at  dinner, 
and  read  the  paper,  like  a  Varmonter  we  had  oncet.  When  father 
asked  him  to  change  a  plate — *■  Squire,'  sais  he,  '  I  came  as  a  help, 
not  as  a  sarvant;  if  you  want  one  o'  them,  get  a  Britisher,  or  a  nigger. 
I  reckon  I  am  a  free  and  enlightened  citizen,  as  good  as  you  be. 
Sarvants  are  critturs  that  don't  grow  in  our  backwoods,  and  if  you 
take  me  for  one  you  are  mistaken  in  this  child,  that's  all.  If  you 
want  me  to  work,  I'll  work ;  if  you  want  me  to  wait  on  you,  you'll 
wait  for  me  a  long  time  fust,  I  calkelate.'  No,  Squire,  we  hante  got  no 
sarvants,  we've  only  got  helps.  The  British  have  got  sarvants,  and 
then  they  are  a  'nation  sight  better  than  helps,  tho'  they  are  a  little 
proud  and  sarsy  sometimes,  but  I  don't  wonder,  for  they  are  actUlj 
the  Gentlemen  of  Englandy  that's  a  fact."  i^ 


1 


'''wi"»'""«n*'<PF««ffpr<p<«an|aiim«niovM^ 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


838 


:tions, 
d  it  is 
I  and 
ilder's 
ertain 
noth- 
ed  on 


CHAPTER    LXI. 


ENGLISH   NIGGERS. 


"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  pursuing  the  same  subject  of  conversation ; 
*'  I  like  the  English  sarvant.  Sarvice  is  a  trade  here,  and  a  house- 
help  sarves  an  apprenticeship  to  it,  is  master  of  his  ^ork,  and  onder- 
stands  his  business.  He  don't  feel  kinder  degraded  by  it,  and  ain't 
therefore  above  it.  Nothin'  ain't  so  bad  as  a  crittur  bein'  above  his 
business.  He  is  a  part  of  his  master  here.  Among  other  folks'  sar- 
vants  he  takes  his  master's  title.  See  these  two  fellers  meet  now, 
and  hear  them. — '  Ah'  Lothian  !  how  are  you  ?'  '  All  right ;  how 
are  you,  Douro  ?  It's  an  age  since  I  saw  you.'  Ain't  that  droll 
now  ?  A  cotton  spinner's  sarvant  is  a  snob  to  these  folks.  He  ain't 
a  man  of  fashion.  They  don't  know  him — he  uses  a  tallow  candle, 
and  drinks  beer ;  he  ain't  a  fit  associate  for  one  who  uses  a  wax,  and 
drinks  wine.  They  have  their  rank  and  position  in  society  as  well 
as  their  masters,  them  fellers ;  and  to  my  mind  they  are  the  best  off 
of  the  two,  for  they  have  no  care.  Yes,  they  are  far  above  our 
helps,  I  must  say ;  but  their  misfortunate  niggers  here  are  a  long 
chalk  below  our  slaves  to  the  south,  and  the  cotton-manufacturers 
are  a  thousand  times  harder  task-masters  than  our  cotton  planters, 
that's  a  fact." 

*'  Negroes  !"  I  said  in  some  astonishment;  "  why,  surely  you  are 
aware  we  have  emancipated  our  negroes.     We  have  no  slaves." 

"  Come,  Squire,"  said  he,  "  now  don't  git  your  back  up  with  me ; 
but  for  goodness  gracious  sake  never  say  we.  It  would  make  folks 
snicker  here  to  hear  you  say  that.    It's  as  bad  as  a  sarvant  sayin' 

*  our  castle' '  our  park' — '  our  pictur'  gallery,'  and  so  on.     What 

right  have  you  to  say  '  We  ?'  You  ain't  an  Englishman,  and  old 
Bull  won't  thank  you  for  your  familiarity,  I  know.  You  had  better 
say,  *  Our  army,'  tho'  you  have  nothin'  to  do  with  it ;  or  *  our  navy,' 
tho'  you  form  no  part  of  it ;  or  *  our  House  of  Lords,'  and  you  can't 
boast  one  Lord;  or  'our  House  of  Commons,'  and  you  hante  a 
single  blessed  member  there ;  or  '  our  authors,' — well,  p'raps  you  may 
aay  that,  because  you  are  an  exception :  but  the  only  reason  you 
warn't  shot,  was,  that  you  was  the  fust  colonial  bird  that  flew  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  you  was  saved  as  a  curiosity,  and  will  be  stuffed 
some  day  or  anotlior,  and  stuck  up  in  a  museum.    The  next  one  will 


Ki 


834 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


,1 


be  pinked,  for  foar  he  should  cross  the  breed. — '  Our !'  Heavens  and 
nirth!  I  wonder  you  hante  too  much  pride  to  say  that;  it's  too  sar- 
vanty  for  the  like  o'  you.  How  can  you  call  yourself  a  part  of  an 
empire,  in  the  government  of  which  you  have  no  voice? — from 
whose  honors  you  are  excluded,  from  whose  sarvice  you  are  shut 
out  ? — by  whom  you  are  looked  on  as  a  consumer  of  iron  and  cotton 
goods,  as  a  hewer  of  wood  for  the  timber  market,  a  curer  of  fish  to 
freight  their  vessels — as  worth  havin,  because  you  attbrd  a  station 
for  an  admil'al,  a  place  for  a  governor,  a  command  for  a  gineral ;  be- 
cause, like  the  stone  steps  to  a  hall  door,  you  enable  otiiers  to  rise, 
but  never  move  yourselves.  *  Our !'  It  makes  me  curl  inwardly 
to  hear  you  use  that  word  *  Our.*  I'll  tell  you  what  a  colonial '  Our' 
is.  I'll  tell  you  what  awaits  you:  in  the  process  of  a  few  years, 
after  your  death,  all  your  family  will  probably  sink  into  the  class  of 
laborers.  Some  on  'em  may  struggle  on  for  a  while,  and  maintain 
the  position  you  have;  but  it  won't  be  long.  Down,  down,  down 
they  must  go ;  rise  they  never  can.  It  is  as  impossible  for  a  colonist 
to  rise  above  the  surface,  as  for  a  stone  to  float  on  a  river.  Every 
one  knows  this  but  yourself,  and  that  is  the  reason  gentlemen  will 
not  go  and  live  among  you.  They  lose  caste — they  descend  on  the 
scale  of  life — they  cease  to  be  Romans.  Din  this  for  ever  in  the 
ears  of  British  statesmen :  tell  them  to  make  you  Englishmen,  or  to 
giv*  you  a  Royal  Prince  for  a  King,  and  make  you  a  new  people. 
But  that  to  be  made  fun  of  by  the  Yankees,  to  be  looked  down  upon 
by  the  English,  and  to  be  despised  by  yourselves,  is  a  condition  that 
you  only  c'  jsarve  as  long  as  you  tolerate  it.    No,  don't  use  that  word 

*  Our'  till  you  are  entitled  to  it.  Be  formal,  and  everlastin'  polite. 
Say  *  your'  empire,  '  your*  army,  &c. ;  and  never  strut  under  bor- 
rowed feathers,  and  say  *  our,*  till  you  can  point  to  your  own  mem- 
bers in  both  houses  of  Parliament — to  your  own  countrymen  fillin* 
such  posts  in  the  imperial  sarvice  as  they  are  qualified  tor  by  their 
talents,  or  entitled  to  in  right  of  the  population  they  represent ;  and 
if  anybody  is  struck  up  of  a  heap  by  your  sayin'  '  yours'  instead  of 

*  ours,'  tell  them  the  reason ;  say — that  was  a  lesson  I  learnt  from 
Sam  Slick,  the  clockmaker:  and  one  tiling  is  sartin,  to  give  the  devil 
his  due,  that  feller  was  '  no  fool,'  at  any  rate.  But  to  git  back  to 
what  we  was  a-talkin'  of.  We  have  two  kinds  of  niggers  in  the 
States — free  niggers  and  slaves.  In  the  north  they  are  all  free,  in 
the  south  all  in  bondage.  Now  the  free  nigger  may  be  a  member 
of  Congress,  but  he  can't  get  there ;  he  may  be  President,  but  he 
guesses  he  can't ;  and  he  reckons  right.  He  may  marry  Tyler's 
darter,  but  she  won't  have  him ;  he  may  be  embassador  to  the  Court 
of  St.  James's,  Victoria,  if  he  could  be  only  appointed ;  or  he  may 
command  the  army  or  the  navy  if  they'd  only  let  him — that's  his 
condition.  The  slave  is  a  slave,  and  that's  his  condition.  Now  the 
English  have  two  sorts  of  niggers — ^American  colonists,  who  are  free 


V»""""f)WI"*fW)^ 


^9m 


SAM  8LI0K  IN  ENOLAND. 


835 


white  niggers ;  and  manufacturers'  laborers  at  home,  and  they  are 
-white  slave  niggers.  A  white  colonist,  like  our  free  black  nigger, 
may  be  a  member  of  Parliament,  but  he  can't  get  there ;  lie  may  be 
governor,  but  he  guesses  he  can't,  and  he  guesses  right ;  he  may 
marry  an  English  nobleman's  darter,  if  she'd  only  have  him  ;  he  may 
be  an  embassador  to  our  Court  at  Washington,  if  he  could  be  only 
appointed ;  he  may  command  the  army  or  the  fleet,  if  he  had  the 
commission  ;  and  that's  his  condition. — A  colonist  and  a  free  nigger 
don't  differ  in  anythin'  but  color :  both  have  naked  rights,  but  they 
have  no  power  given  'em  to  clothe  those  rights,  and  that's  the  naked 
truth. 

"  Your  blockheads  of  Liberals  to  Canada,  are  for  ever  yelpin* 
about  'sponsible  government ;  if  it  was  all  they  think  it  is,  what 
would  be  the  good  of  it  ?  Now,  I'll  tell  you  the  remedy.  Don't 
repeal  the  Union,  lay  down  your  life  fust,  but  have  a  closer  union. 
Let  'em  form  a  Colonial  council  board  to  London,  and  appoint  some 
colonists  to  it,  that  they  may  feel  they  have  some  a  uice  in  the  go- 
vernment of  the  empire.  Let  'em  raise  provincial  regiments,  and 
officer  them  with  natives,  that  you  may  have  somethin'  to  do  with 
the,  army.  Let  'em  have  some  man-of-war  devoted  to  Colony 
offices,  that  you  may  have  somethin'  to  do  with  the  navy.  All  you 
've  got  in  that  line  is  a  miserable  little  cutter,  paid  by  yourselves, 
commanded  by  one  of  yourselves,  Captain  Darby  :  and  he  has  sot  a 
proper  pattern  to  your  navy.  He  has  seized  more  Yankee  vessels 
in  the  last  seven  years  for  breakin'  the  fish  treaty,  than  all  the  ad- 
mirals and  all  the  squadrons  on  the  American  coast  has,  put  to- 
gether twice  over.  He  and  his  vessel  costs  you  a  few  hundred  a 
year ;  them  fleets  durin'  that  time  has  cost  more  nor  all  Halifax 
would  sell  for  to-morrow,  if  put  up  to  vandu.  He  desarves  a  feather 
in  his  cap  from  your  Government,  which  he  won't  get,  and  a  tar- 
jacket  covered  with  feathers  from  us,  which  he  is  very  likely  to  get. 
Yes,  have  some  man-o'-war  there  with  colony  officers  like  him,  then 
say, '  our  navy,'  if  you  like.  Remove  the  restrictions  on  colonial 
clergy,  so  that  if  they  desarve  promotion  in  the  church  to  Britain, 
they  needn't  be  shut  out  among  big  bogs,  black  logs,  and  thick  fogs, 
for  ever  and  ever ;  and  then  it  tante  the  Church  of  England,  but 
'  our  church.'  If  there  is  a  feller  everlastin'  strong  in  a  colony, 
don't  make  it  his  interest  to  wrastle  with  a  Governor ;  but  send  him 
to  another  province,  and  make  him  one  himself.  Let  'em  have  a 
Member  to  Parliament,  and  he  will  be  a  safety  valve  to  let  off 
steam.  It's  then  *  our  Parliament.'  Open  the  door  to  youngsters, 
and  let  'em  see  stars,  ribbons,  garters,  coronets,  and  all  a-hangin'  up 
agin  the  wall,  and  when  their  mouths  water,  and  they  lick  their 
chops  as  if  tliey'd  like  a  taste  of  them,  then  say, — '  Now,  d — n  you ! 
go  a-head  and  win  'em,  and  if  you  win  the  race,  you  shall  have  'em, 
and  if  you  lose,  turn  to,  import  some  gentlemen,  and  improve  the 


336 


THE  ATTACHE;   OR, 


breed,  and  mind  your  trainin*,  and  try  agin  ;  all  you  got  to  do,  is  to 
win.  Go  a-head,  I'll  bet  on  you,  if  you  try.  Let '  death  or  victory ' 
be  your  colony  motto^Westminster  Abbey  or  the  House  of  Lords. 
Go  a-head,  my  young  'coons,  wake  snakes,  and  walk  your  chalks, 
streak  it  off  like  'iled  lightenin',  and  whoever  gets  in  first,  wins.' 
Yes,  that's  the  remedy.     But  now  they  have  no  chance. 

"  Now,  as  to  the  manufacturin*  slave,  let's  look  at  the  poor  devil, 
for  I  pity  him,  and  I  despise  and  hate  his  double-faced,  iron-hearted, 
radical,  villanous,  low-bred,  tyrant  of  a  master,  as  I  do  a  rattlesnake. 
Oh!  he  is  diflferent  from  all  the  sarvants  in  England;  all  other 
sarvants  are  well  oft — most  too  well  off",  if  anythin',  for  they  are 
pampered.  But  these  poor  critturs !  oh,  their  lot  is  a  hard  one — 
not  from  the  Corn-laws,  as  their  Radical  employers  te'l  *em — not 
because  they  have  not  univarsal  sufi'rage,  as  demagogues  tell  'em — 
nor  because  there  are  Bishops  who  wear  lawn  sleeves  instead  of 
cotton  ones,  as  the  Dissenters  tell  'em — but  because  there  is  a  law 
of  natur'  violated  in  their  case.  The  hawk,  the  shark,  and  the  tiger ; 
the  bird,  the  fish,  and  the  beast,  even  the  reasonin'  brute,  man,  each 
and  all  feed,  nurture,  and  protect,  those  they  spawn,  hatch,  or  breed. 
It's  a  law  written  in  the  works  of  God.  They  have  it  in  instinct, 
and  find  it  in  reason,  and  necessitv  and  affection  are  its  roots  and 
foundation.  The  manufacturer  alone  obeys  no  instinct,  won't  listen 
to  no  reason,  don't  see  no  necessity,  and  hante  got  no  affections.  He 
calls  together  the  poor,  and  gives  them  artificial  powers,  unfits  them 
for  all  other  pursuits,  works  them  to  their  utmost,  fobs  all  the  profits 
of  their  labor,  and  when  he  is  too  rich  and  too  proud  to  progress,  or 
when  bad  spekelations  has  ruined  him,  he  desarts  these  unfortunate 
wretches  whom  he  has  created,  used  up,  and  ruined,  and  leaves 
them  to  God  and  their  country  to  provide  tor.  But  that  ain't  all 
nother,  he  first  sots  them  agin  the  House  of  God  and  his  Ministers, 
(tlie  only  Church,  too,  in  the  whole  world,  that  is  the  Church  of  the 
poor — the  Church  of  England,  the  fust  duty  of  which  is  to  provide 
tor  the  instruction  of  the  poor  at  the  expense  of  the  rich,)  and  then 
he  sots  them  agin  the  farmer,  who  at  last  has  to  feed  and  provide  for 
tlieni  in  their  day  of  trouble.  What  a  horrid  system !  he  first  starves 
their  bodies,  and  then  p'isens  their  minds — he  ruins  them,  body  and 
soul.  Guess,  1  needn't  tell  you,  what  this  gony  is? — he  is  a  Liberal ; 
he  is  rich,  and  hates  those  tliat  are  richer ;  he  is  proud,  and  hates 
those  of  superior  station.  His  means  are  beyond  his  rank;  his 
education  and  breedin'  is  below  that  of  the  aristocracy.  He  ain't 
satisfied  with  his  own  position,  for  he  is  able  lo  vie  with  his  supe- 
riors ;  he  is  dissatisfied  with  theirs  because  he  can't  come  it.  He  is 
ashamed  to  own  tliis,  his  real  motive,  he  therefore  calls  in  principle 
to  his  aid.  lie  is,  then,  from  principle,  a  Reformer,  and  under  that 
pretty  word,  does  all  the  mischief  to  society  he  can. 

"  Then  comes  to  i.\is  aid,  for  figures  of  speecli,  the  bread  of  the 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


837 


poor,  the  staryin'  man's  loaf,  the  widder's  mite,  the  orphan's  mouldy 
crust.  If  he  lowers  the  price  of  corn,  he  lowers  wages.  If  he 
lowers  wages,  he  curtails  his  annual  outlay;  the  poor  is  made 
poorer,  but  the  unfortunate  wretch  is  too  ignorant  to  know  this.  He 
is  made  richer  himself,  and  he  is  wide  awake.  It  won't  do  to  say 
all  this,  so  he  ups  with  his  epeakin'  trumpet,  and  hails  principle  agin 
to  convoy  him.  He  is  an  Anti-Gom-Law  leaguer  on  principle,  he 
is  agin  agricultural  monopoly,  the  protective  system,  the  landed 
gentry.  He  is  the  £nend  of  the  poor.  What  a  super-superior 
villain  he  is ! — ^he  first  cheats  and  thon  mocks  the  poor,  and  jist  ups 
and  asks  the  blessin'  of  God  on  his  enterprise,  by  the  aid  of  fanatical, 
furious  and  seditious  strollin'  preachers.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like 
of  that,  Squire  ?" 

"  Never,"  I  said, "  but  once."  *  ;         ,. 

"  And  when  was  that  ?" 

"Never  mind — go  on  with  your  description;  you  are  eloquent 
to-day." 

"  No ;  I  wont  go  on  one  single  blessed  step  if  you  don't  tell  me, — 
it's  some  fling  at  us,  I  know,  or  you  wouldn't  hum  and  haw  that 
way.  Now,  come  out  with  it — ^I'U  give  you  as  good  as  you  send,  I 
know.     What  did  you  ever  know  equal  to  that  ?" 

^  I  kneTi  your  Government  maintain  lately,  that  on  the  high  seas 
the  flag  oi  liberty  should  protect  a  cargo  of  slaves.  It  just  occurred 
to  me,  that  liberty  at  the  mast-head,  and  slavery  in  the  holdy 
resembled  the  conduct  of  the  manufacturer,  who,  while  he  oppressed 
the  poor,  affected  to  be  devoted  to  their  cause." 

"  I  thought  so.  Squire,  but  you  missed  the  mark  that  time,  so  clap 
in  another  ball,  and  try  your  hand  agin.  The  Prince  de  Joinville 
boarded  one  o'  your  gun  brigs  not  long  ago  (mind  you,  not  a  tradin' 
vessel,  but  a  man-o'-war)  and  took  her  pilot  out  of  her  to  steer  his 
ship.  Now  if  your  naval  man  had  a-seized  the  French  oflOieer  by 
the  cape  of  his  coat  with  one  hand,  and  the  seat  of  his  breeches  with 
the  other,  and  chucked  him  head  and  heels  overboard,  and  taught 
him  the  new  game  of  leap  Frog,  as  he  had  ought  to  have  done, 
you'd  a  know'd  a  little  better  than  to  ax  us  to  let  your  folks  board 
our  vessels.  It  don't  become  you  British  to  talk  about  right  o'  sarch 
arter  that.  I  guess  we  are  even  now — ain't  we  ?  Yes,  I  pity  these 
poor  ignorant  devils,  the  English  niggers,  I  do  from  my  soul.  If 
our  slaves  are  old  or  infirm,  or  ill,  thiir  master  keeps  them,  and 
keeps  them  kindly,  too.  It  is  both  his  interest  to  take  care  of  their 
health,  and  his  duty  to  provide  for  'era  if  ill.  He  knows  his  niggers, 
and  they  know  him.  They  don't  work  like  a  white  man.  They 
know  they  must  be  fed,  whether  they  work  or  not.  White  niggers 
know  they  must  starve  if  they  don't.  Our  fellers  dance  and  sing 
like  crickets.  Your  fellers'  hearts  is  too  heavy  to  sing,  and  their 
limbs  too  tired  to  dance.    A  common  interest  binds  our  master  and 

15 


338 


THE  ATTACH^;  OR, 


1      ! 


slave.  There  is  no  tie  between  the  En£;^lish  factor  and  his  nigger. 
He  don't  know  his  men  by  sight — ^they  don't  know  him  but  by  name. 
Our  folks  are  and  must  be  kind.  Yours  ain't,  and  needn't  be. 
They  pretend,  then,  and  in  that  pretence  become  powerful,  'cause 
they  have  the  masses  with  them.  Cunnin'  as  foxes  them  critters, 
too.  They  know  some  one  would  take  up  the  cause  of  them  niggers, 
and  therefore  they  put  them  on  a  false  scent — ^pretend  to  fight  their 
battles,  and,  instead  of  waitin'  to  be  attacked,  fall  to  and  attack  the 
poor  farmer ;  while  the  owners  of  England,  therefore,  are  a-defendin' 
of  themselves  from  the  onjust  charge  of  oppressin'  the  poor,  these 
critturs  are  plunderin*  the  poor  like  winky.  Ah !  Squire,  they  want 
protectin' — there  should  be  cruisers  sent  into  those  manufacturin' 
seas.  The  hulks  there  are  under  your  own  flag — ^board  them— 
examine  them.  If  the  thumb-screws  are  there,  tuck  up  some  of  the 
cotton  Lords  with  their  own  cotton  ropes — ^that's  the  ticket,  Sir, 
ventilate  the  ships — see  the  owners  have  laid  in  a  good  stock  of 
provisions  for  a  long  voyage,  that  the  critturs  aint  too  crowded, 
that  they  have  prayers  every  Sunday." 

" '  Very  good,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell ;  "  your  heart 's  in  the 
right  place,  Sam.  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way ;  and  let  the 
chaplain  not  be  the  barber  or  shoemaker,  but  a  learned,  pious,  loyal 
man  of  the  Church  of  England ;  let  him " 

**  Let  them,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  take  care  no  crittur  talks  mutinous 
to  them — no  chartism — no  radicalism — no  agitation — no  settin'  of 
them  agin'  their  real  friends,  and  p'isonin'  of  their  minds.  If  there 
is  any  chaps  a  doin'  of  this,  up  with  them  in  a  minute,  and  let  the 
boatswain  lay  three  dozen  into  'em,  in  rael  wide  awake  aimest ;  and 
while  they  are  in  hospital,  get  some  of  the  cheap  bread  they  talk  so 
much  about.  (Did  you  ever  see  it.  Squire  ?  It's  as  black  as  if  it 
had  dropt  into  a  dye-tub — as  coarse  as  sawdust — so  hard,  mould  can't 
grow  over  it,  and  so  infamal  poor,  insects  can't  eat  it.)  Yes,  send 
to  the  Baltic  for  this  elegant  cheap  bread — this  wonderful  blessin' — 
this  cure  for  all  evils,  and  make  'em  eat  it  till  their  backs  is  cured. 
Tell  old  Joe  Sturge  to  look  to  home  afore  he  talks  of  the  States ;  for 
slave  ships  ain't  one  mossel  wuss  than  some  of  the  factories  under 
his  own  nose. 

"  Ah !  Squire,  Peel  has  a  long  head,  Muntz  has  a  long  beard,  and 
John  Russell  has  a  cussed  long  tongue ;  but  head,  tongue,  and 
beard,  put  together,  ain't  all  that's  wanted.  There  wants  a  heart  to 
feel,  a  head  to  conceive,  and  a  resolution  to  execute,  the  protection 
for  these  poor  people.  It  ain't  cheap  bread,  nor  ballot,  nor  reform, 
nor  chartism,  nor  free-trade,  nor  repealin'  unions,  nor  such  nonsense, 
that  they  want.  When  a  man  collects  a  multitude  of  human  bein's 
together,  and  founds  a  factory,  the  safety  of  the  country  and  the  in- 
terests of  humanity  require  there  should  be  some  security  taken  for 
the  protection  of  the  misfortunate  '  English  Niggers.' " 


SAM  SLICK  IS  ENGLAND. 


339 


.,i 


t  .. 


'  CHAPTER    LXII. 

'■■•'■  .  ;    ' 

INDEPENDENCE. 

Mr.  Hopewell,  who  was  much  struck  with  the  Attache's  re- 
marks in  the  last  chapter,  especially  those  in  reference  to  the  colo- 
nies, pursued  the  same  subject  aguin  to-day. 

"  Squire,"  said  he,  "  if  Great  Britain  should  withdraw  her  protec- 
tion from  the  North  American  provinces,  as  I  fear  she  will  at  no 
distant  period,  would  they  form  a  separate  nation,  or  become  incor- 
porated with  us  ?    This  is  a  serious  question,  and  one  that  should  be 
well  considered.     There  is  a  kindness,  and  yet  a  perverseness,  about 
English  rule  in  America,  that  is  perfectly  astonishing.    Their  liber- 
ality is  unbounded,  and  their  indulgence  unexampled ;  but  there  is 
a  total  absence  of  political  sagacity,  no  settled  principles  of  Colonial 
Grovemment,  and  no  firmness  and  decision  whatever.    The  result 
cannot  be  but  most  disastrous.    They  seem  to  forget  that  the  pro- 
vinces are  parts  of  a  monarchy ;  and  instead  of  fostering  monarchical 
principles,  every  step  they  take  tends  not  only  to  weaken  them,  but 
to  manifest  a  decided  preference  for  republican  ones.    Demagogues 
discovering  this  weakness  and  vacillation  of  their  rulers,  have  found 
by  experience,  that  agitation  is  always  successful ;  that  measures  of 
concession  or  conciliation  are  the  sure  and  certain  fruits  of  turbu- 
lence ;  and  that,  as  loyalty  can  always  be  depended  upon,  its  claims 
are  sure  to  be  sacrificed  to  those  whose  adhesion  it  is  necessary  to 
purchase.     To  satisfy  these  democrats,  and  to  gratify  their  ambition, 
the  upper  houses  of  the  legislature  have  been  rendered  a  mere  null- 
ity ;  while  the  popular  branches  have  encroached  in  such  a  manner 
upon  the  executive,  as  to  render  the  Governor  little  more  than  a 
choice  of  being  the  intriguing  head,  or  the  degraded  tool  of  a  party. 
If  they  succeed  in  the  present  struggle  in  Canada,  he  will  be  virtu- 
ally superseded ;  the  real  governor  will  be  the  leading  demagogue, 
and  the  nominal  one  will  have  but  two  duties  left  to  fulfil,  namely, 
to  keep  a  good  table  for  the  entertainment  of  his  masters,  and  to 
affix  his  name  to  such  documents  as  may  be  prepared  and  presented 
for  his  signature.     Rebellion  will  then  have  obtained  a  bloodless 
victory,  and  the  colonies  will  be  independent." 

*'  D— n  them  I"  said  Colonel  Slick ;  "  they  don't  desarve  to  be  fVee, 
Why  don't  they  disguise  themselves  as  Indgins,  as  we  did,  and  go 


840 


1?HB  attach:^!;  or, 


down  to  the  wharf,  board  the  cutter,  and  throw  the  tea  into  the  har- 
bor, as  we  did  ?  Creation  !  man,  they  don't  desarve  to  be  free,  the 
cowards !  they  want  to  be  independent,  and  they  darsn't  say  so." — 
And  he  went  out  of  the  room,  muttering,  "  that  there  never  was,  and 
never  could  be,  but  one  Bunker^ill." 

"  The  loyal,  the  right-minded  British  party  in  the  colonies,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Hopewell,  "are  discouraged  and  disheartened  by  the 
countenance  and  protection  shown  to  these  unprincipled  agitators. 
These  are  things  obvious  to  all  the  world ;  but  there  are  other  causes 
in  operation  which  require  local  experience  and  a  knowledge  of  the 
human  mind  to  appreciate  properly.  Great  Britain  is  a  trading 
country,  and  values  everything  by  dollars  and  cents,  as  much  as  we 
do ;  but  there  are  some  things  beyond  the  reach  of  money.  English 
statesmen  flatter  themselves  that  if  they  abstain  from  taxing  the  colo- 
nies, if  they  defend  them  by  their  fleets  and  armies,  expend  large 
sums  on  canals  and  railroads,  and  impose  no  part  of  the  burden  of 
the  national  debt  upon  them,  they  will  necessarily  appreciate  the  ad- 
vantages of  such  a  happy  condition ;  and,  in  contrasting  it  with  that 
of  the  heavy  public  exactions  in  the  States,  feel  that  it  is  both  their 
duty  and  their  interest  to  be  quiet. 

"  These  are  sordid  considerations,  and  worthy  of  the  counting- 
house  in  which  Poulett  Thompson  learned  his  first  lessons  in  political 
economy.  Most  colonists  are  native-born  British  subjects,  and  have, 
together  with  British  prejudices,  British  pride  also.  They  feel  that 
they  are  to  the  English  what  the  English  are  to  the  Chinese,  outer 
barbarians.  They  observe,  with  pain  and  mortification,  that  much 
of  the  little  local  patronage  is  reserved  for  Europeans ;  Chat  when 
natives  are  appointed  to  office  by  the  Governor,  in  many  cases  they 
have  hardly  entered  upon  their  duties,  when  they  are  superseded  by 
persons  sent  from  this  side  of  the  water,  so  vastly  inferior  to  them- 
selves in  point  of  ability  and  moral  character,  that  they  feel  the  in- 
jury they  have  sustained  is  accompanied  by  an  insult  to  the  commu- 
nity. The  numerous  instances  you  have  mentioned  to  me  in  the 
Customs  Department,  to  which  I  think  you  said  Nova  Scotia  paid 
eight  thousand  pounds  a-year,  fully  justify  this  remark,  and  some  other 
flagrant  instances  of  late  in  the  Post-office,  you  admit  have  been 
keenly  felt  from  one  end  of  -your  province  to  the  other.  While  de- 
prived of  a  part  of  the  little  patronage  at  home,  there  is  no  external 
field  for  them  whatever.  It  would  be  a  tedious  story  to  enter  into 
details,  and  tell  you  how  it  arises,  but  so  it  is,  the  imperial  service 
is  practically  closed  to  them.  The  remedy  just  proposed  by  Sam  is 
the  true  one.  They  feel  that  they  are  surrounded  by  their  superiors, 
not  in  talent  or  education,  but  by  those  who  are  superior  to  them  in 
interest — that  they  present  a  field  for  promotion  to  otliers,  but  have 
none  for  themselves.  As  time  rolls  on  in  its  rapid  but  noiseless 
course,  they  have  opportunities  offered  to  them  to  measure  their  con- 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


841 


outer 


dition  with  others.  To-^y  the  little  nnfledged  ensign  eports  among 
them  for  the  first  time,  in  awkward  consciousness,  his  new  regimen- 
tals, passes  away  to  other  colonies,  in  his  tour  of  duty ;  and  while 
the  recollection  of  the  rosy  boy  is  yet  fresh  in  their  memories,  he 
returns,  to  their  amazement,  in  command  of  a  regiment.  The  same 
circle  is  again  described,  and  the  General  commanding  the  forces 
receives  the  congratulations  of  his  early  friends.  The  wheel  of  for- 
tune again  revolves,  and  the  ensign  ripens  into  a  governor.  Five 
years  of  gubernatorial  service  in  a  colony  are  reckoned  five  years  of 
exile  among  the  barbarians,  and  amount  to  a  claim  for  further  pro- 
motion. He  is  followed  by  the  affectionate  regard  of  those  among 
whom  he  lived  into  his  new  sphere  of  duty,  and  in  five  years  more 
he  informs  them  he  is  again  advanced  to  further  honors.  A  colonist 
naturally  asks  himself,  how  is  this  ?  When  I  first  knew  these  men 
I  was  toiling  on  in  my  present  narrow  sphere ;  they  stopped  and 
smiled,  or  pitied  my  humble  labors,  and  passed  on,  sure  of  success ; 
while  here  I  am  in  the  same  position,  not  only  without  a  hope  but 
without  a  possibility  of  rising  in  the  world ;  and  yet  who  and  what 
are  they  ?  I  have  seen  them,  heard  them,  conversed  with  them, 
studied  them,  and  compared  them  with  ourselves.  I  find  most  of  us 
equal  in  information  and  abilities,  and  some  infinitely  superior  to 
them.  Why  is  this  ?  Their  tone  and  manner  pain  me  too.  They 
are  not  rude,  but  their  manner  is  supercilious ;  they  do  not  inten- 
tionally offend,  but  it  would  seem  as  if  they  could  not  avoid  it.  My 
country  is  spoken  of  as  their  exile,  their  sojourn  as  a  p»>^e  of  life  ob- 
literated, the  society  as  by  nc  means  so  b£  i  as  they  had  heard,  but 
possessing  no  attractions  for  a  gentleman,  the  day  of  departure  is 
regarded  as  release  from  prison,  and  the  hope  expressed  that  this 
*  Foreign  Service'  will  be  rewarded  as  it  deserves.  All  that  they 
feel  and  express  on  this  subject  is  unhappily  too  tr  le.  Jt  is  no  place 
for  a  gentleman.  The  pestilential  blasts  of  democracy,  and  the  cold 
and  chilly  winds  from  Downing  Street,  have  engendered  an  atmos- 
phere so  uncongenial  to  a  gentleman,  that  he  feels  he  caauot  live 
here.    Yes !  it  is  too  true,  the  race  will  soon  become  extmct. 

"  Why,  then,  is  the  door  of  promotion  not  open  to  me  also,"  ho 
inquires,  "  as  it  is  the  only  hope  left  to  me.  Talk  not  to  me  of  light 
taxes,  I  despise  your  money ;  or  of  the  favor  of  defending  me,  I  can 
defend  myself.  I,  too,  have  the  ambition  to  command,  as  well  as  the 
forbearance  to  obey.  Talk  of  free  trade  to  traders,  but  of  honorable 
competition  in  the  departments  of  state  to  gentlemen.  Open  your 
Senate  to  us,  and  receive  our  representatives.  Select  some  of  our 
ablest  men  for  governors  of  other  colonies,  and  not  condemn  us  to 
be  always  governed.  It  can  be  no  honor  to  a  people  to  be  a  part 
of  your  empire,  if  they  are  excluded  from  all  honor ;  even  bondsmen 
sometimes  merit  and  receive  their  manumission.  May  not  a  colonist 
receive  that  advancement  to  which  he  is  entitled  by  his  t^ents,  his 


ti2 


THE  attach£;  or, 


public  services,  or  his  devotion  to  your  cause  ?  No  one  doubts  your 
justice — the  name  of  an  Englishman  is  a  guarantee  for  that :  but 
we  have  not  the  same  confidence  in  your  information  as  to  our  con- 
dition. Read  history  and  learn !  In  the  late  rebellion,  Sir  John 
Colboume  commanded  two  or  three  regiments  of  British  troops. 
Wherever  they  were  detached  they  behaved  as  British  soldiers  do 
upon  all  occasions,  with  great  gallantry  and  with  great  skill.  His 
arrangements  were  judicious,  and  upon  two  or  three  occasions  where 
he  attacked  some  small  bodies  of  rebels  he  repulsed  or  dispersed 
them.  He  was  acting  in  the  line  of  his  profession,  and  he  peribrmed 
a  duty  for  which  he  was  paid  by  his  country.  He  was  rewarded 
with  the  thanks  of  Parliament,  a  peerage,  a  pension,  and  a  govern- 
ment. A  colonist  at  the  same  time  raised  a  body  of  volunteers  from 
an  irregular  and  undisciplined  militia,  by  the  weight  of  his  personal 
character  and  infiuence,  and  with  prodigious  exertion  and  fatigue, 
traversed  the  upper  province,  awakened  the  energies  of  the  people, 
and  drove  out  of  the  country  both  native  rebels  and  foreign  sympa- 
thizers. Ik  saved  the  colony.  He  was  not  acting  in  the  line  of  his 
profession,  nor  discharging  a  duty  for  which  he  was  paid  by  his 
country.  He  was  rewarded  by  a  reluctant  and  barren  grant  of 
knighthood.  Don't  misunderstand  me :  I  have  no  intention  what- 
ever of  undervaluing  the  services  of  that  excellent  man  and  distin- 
guished officer.  Sir  John  Colboume ;  he  earned  and  deserved  his  re- 
ward ;  but  what  I  mean  to  say  is,  the  colonist  has  not  had  the  re- 
ward that  he  earned  and  deserved — '  Bx  uno  disce  omnes." 

"  The  American  Revolution  has  shown  you  that  colonists  can  fur- 
nish both  generals  and  statesmen ;  take  care  and  encourage  theii- 
most  anxious  desire  to  furnish  them  to  you,  and  do  not  drive  them 
to  uct  against  you.  Yet  then,  as  now,  you  thought  them  incapable 
of  any  command;  we  have  had  and  still  have  men  of  the  same 
stamp;  our  cemeteries  suggest  the  same  reflections  as  your  own. 
The  moralist  often  says : — 

'  Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid, 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  wak'd  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

*  The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command  ; 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise  ; 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes. 

•  Their  lot  forbad.—' 


"  Whether  the  lot  of  the  present  generation  will  also  forbid  it,  you 
must  decide — or  circumstances  may  decide  it  for  you.  Yes,  Squire, 
this  is  an  important  subject,  and  one  that  I  have  often  mentioned  to 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


343 


yon.  Instead  of  fostering  men  of  talent,  and  endeavoring  to  raise 
an  order  of  superior  men  in  the  country,  so  that  in  them  the  aristo- 
cratic feeling  which  is  so  peculiarly  monarchical  may  t^ke  root  and 
flourish ;  Government  has  repressed  them,  sacrificed  them  to  dema- 
gogues, and  reduced  the  salaries  of  all  official  men  to  that  degree, 
that  but  suited  the  ravenous  envy  of  democracy.  Instead  of  build- 
ing up  the  second  branch,  and  the  order  that  is  to  furnish  and  sup- 
port it,  everything  has  been  done  to  lower  and  to  break  it.  In  pro- 
portion as  they  are  diminished,  the  demagogue  rises,  when  he  in  his 
turn  will  find  the  field  too  limited,  and  the  reward  too  small ;  and, 
unrestrained  by  moral  or  religious  feeling,  having  no  principles  to 
guide,  and  no  honor  to  influence  him,  he  will  draw  the  sword  as  he 
has  done,  and  always  will  do,  when  it  suits  his  views,  knowing  how 
great  the  plunder  will  be  if  he  succeeds,  and  how  certain  his  pardon 
will  be  if  he  fails.  He  has  literally  everything  to  gain  and  nothing 
to  lose  in  his  struggle  for  '  Independence.' " 


CHAPTER    LXIII. 


THE   EBB   TIDE. 

To-DAT  Mr,  Slick  visited  me  as  usual,  but  I  was  struck  with 
astonishment  at  the  great  alteration  in  Lis  dress  and  manner — I 
scarcely  knew  him  at  first,  the  metamorphosis  was  so  great.  He  had 
shaved  off  his  moustache  and  imperial,  and  from  having  worn  those 
military  appendages  so  long,  the  skin  they  had  covered  not  being 
equally  exposed  to  the  influence  of  the  sun  as  other  parts  of  his  face, 
looked  as  white  as  if  it  had  been  painted.  His  hair  was  out  of  curl, 
the  diamond  brooch  had  disappeared  from  his  bosom,  the  gold  chain 
from  his  neck,  and  the  brilliant  from  his  finger.  His  attire  was  like 
that  of  other  people,  and,  with  the  exception  of  being  better  made, 
not  unlike  what  he  had  worn  in  Nova  Scotia.  In  short,  he  looked 
like  himself  once  more. 

"  Squire,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  who  does  not  know  you  ?  for  you  may  well  say, '  not 
to  know  me,  argues  thyself  unknown. " 

"  Aye,  but  do  you  know  what  I  am  ?" 

"  An  Attache,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  ain't,  I've  gi\  m  that  up — I've  resigned — I  ain't  no 
longer  an  Attache  ;  I'm  Sam  Slick,  the  clockmaker,  agin — at  least 
what's  left  of  me.  I've  recovered  my  eyesight — I  can  see  without 
glasses  now.    You  and  minister  have  opened  my  eyes,  and  what  you 


844 


THE  ATTACH^!;   OB, 


eouldn't  do,  father  has  done.  Father  was  madder  nor  me  by  a  lotig 
chalk.  I've  been  a  fool,  that's  a  fact.  I've  had  my  head  turned ; 
but,  thank,  fortin',  I've  got  it  straight  agin.  I  should  like  to  see  the 
man  now  that  would  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes.    I've  been  made 

a  tiger  and " 

"  Lion  you  mean,  a  tiger  is  a  term  applied  to **  '     * 

"  Exactly,  so  it  is ;  I  meant  a  lion.  Tve  been  made  a  lion  of,  and 
makin'  a  lion  of  a  man  is  plaguy  apt  to  make  a  fool  of  a  feller.  I 
can  tell  you.  To  be  asked  here,  and  asked  there,  and  introduced 
to  this  one,  and  introduced  to  that  one,  and  petted  and  flattered, 
and  made  much  of,  and  have  all  eyes  on  you,  and  wherever 
you  go,  hear  a  whisperin'  click  with  the  last  letters  of  your  name 
— ick — lick — Slick — accordin'  as  you  catch  a  part  or  a  whole 
of  the  word ;  to  hare  fellers  listen  to  you  to  hear  you  talk,  to 
see  the  papers  full  of  your  name,  and  whenever  you  go,  or  stay, 
or  return,  to  have  your  motions  printed.  The  celebrated  Sam 
Slick — the  popular  Mr.  Slick — ^the  immortal  Clockmaker — that  dis- 
tinguished moralist  and  humorist — ^that  great  judge  of  human  natur^ 
Mr.  Slick ;  or  to  see  your  phiz  in  a  winder  of  a  print-shop,  or  in  a 
wood-cut  in  a  picturesque  paper,  or  an  engine  on  a  railroad  called 
arter  you ;  or  a  yacht,  or  vessel,  or  racehorse  called  Sam  Slick. 
Well,  it's  enough  to  make  one  a  little  grain  consaited,  or  to  carry 
his  head  high,  as  a  feller  I  oncet  knew  to  Slickville,  who  was  so  ev- 
erlastin'  consaited,  and  cocked  his  chin  up  so,  he  walked  right  off  the 
eend  of  a  wharf  without  seein'  the  water,  and  was  near  about 
drowned,  and  sp'iled  all  his  bran  new  clothes.  Yes,  Tve  had  my 
head  turned  a  bit,  and  no  mistake,  but  it  hante  been  long.  I  know 
human  natur',  and  read  the  human  heart  too  easy,  to  bark  long  up  a 
wrong  tree.  I  soon  twigged  the  secret.  One  wanted  to  see  me, 
whether  I  was  black  or  white ;  another  wanted  to  brag  that  I  dined 
with  'em ;  a  third  wanted  me  as  a  decoy  bird  to  their  table,  to  entice 
others  to  come ;  a  fourth,  'cause  they  made  a  p'int  of  havin'  distin- 
guished people  at  their  house ;  a  fifth,  'cause  they  sot  up  for  patrons 
of  literary  men ;  a  sixth,  'cause  they  wanted  colony  politics  ;  a  sev- 
enth, 'cause  it  give  'em  something  to  talk  of.  But  who  wanted  me 
for  Jnyself  ?  Sam  Slick,  a  mechanic,  a  retail  travellin*  trader,  a 
wooden  clockmaker.  'Aye,*  sais  I,  to  myself  sais  I,  'who wants  you 
for  yourself,  Sam,'  sais  I ;  '  books,  and  fame,  and  name  out  of  the 
question,  but  jist  '  Old  Slick,  the  Yankee  Pedlar  ?*  D — n  the  one  o* 
them,'  sais  I.-*  I  couldn't  help  a-thinkin'  of  Hotspur  Outhouse,  son 
of  the  clerk  to  Minister's  church  to  Slickville.  He  was  sure  to  git 
in  the  wind  wherever  he  went,  and  was  rather  touchy  when  he  was 
that  way,  and  a  stupid  feller  too.  "Well,  he  was  axed  everywhere 
a'most,  jist  because  he  had  a'most  a  beautiful  voice,  and  sung  Uke  a 
canary  bird.  Folks  thought  it  was  no  party  without  Hotspur — ^they 
made  everything  of  him.    Well,  his  voice  changed,  as  it  does  some- 


SAM  SLIO«;  IN  ENQLAND. 


&^ 


times  in  men,  and  there  was  an  eend  of  all  his  everlastin'  splendid 
singin*.  No  sooner  said  than  done — there  was  an  eend  to  his  invita- 
tions too.  All  at  oncet  folks  found  out  that  he  was  a'most  a  horrid 
stupid  crittur ;  wondered  what  anybody  ever  could  have  seed  in  him 
to  ax  him  to  their  houses — such  a  nasty,  cross,  quarrelsome,  good- 
for-nothin'  feller.  Poor  Hotspur  I  it  nearly  broke  his  heart.  Well, 
like  Hotspur,  who  was  axed  for  his  singin',  I  reckon  I  was  axed  for 
the  books ;  but  as  for  me,  myself,  Sam  Slick,  why  nobody  cared  a 
pinch  of  snuff.  The  film  dropt  right  off  my  eyes  at  oncet — my  mind 
took  it  all  in  at  a  draft,  like  a  glass  of  lignum-vity.  Tell  you  where 
the  mistake  was,  Squire,  and  I  only  claim  a  half  of  it — t'other  half 
belongs  to  the  nobility.  It  was  this :  I  felt  as  a  free  and  enlight- 
ened citizen  of  our  great  nation,  on  a  footin  of  equality  with  any  man 
here,  and  so  I  was.  Every  noble  here  looks  on  a  republican  as  on 
a  footin'  with  the  devil.  We  didn't  start  fair ;  if  we  was,  I  ain't 
afeerd  of  the  race,  I  tell  you.  I  guess  they're  got  some  good  sto- 
ries about  me  to  larf  at,  'for  in  course  fashions  alters  in  different 
places.  I've  dressed  like  them,  and  tried  to  talk  like  them,  on  the 
principle  that  when  a  feller  is  in  Turkey,  he  must  do  as  the  Turkeys 
do ;  or  when  they  go  from  Canady  to  Buffalo,  do  as  the  Buffaloes 
do.  I  have  the  style  of  a  man  of  fashion,  of  the  upper  crust  circles, 
and  can  do  the  thing  now  as  genteel  as  any  on  'em ;  but  in  course, 
in  larnin',  I  put  my  foot  in  it  sometimes,  and  splashed  a  little  of  the 
nastiest.    It  stands  to  reason  it  couldn't  be  otherwise.    I'll  tell  you 

what  fust  sot  me  a  considerin' — I  saw  Lady ,  plague  take  her 

name,  I  forgit  it  now,  but  you  know  who  I  mean,  it's  the  one  that 
pretends  to  be  so  fond  of  foreigners,  and  tries  to  talk  languages- 
Gibberish  !  oh !  that's  her  name.  Well,  I  saw  Lady  Gibberish  go 
up  to  one  of  my  countrywomen,  as  sweet  as  sugar-candy,  and  set  her 
a-talkin',  jist  to  git  out  of  her  a  few  Yankee  words,  and  for  no  other 
airthly  purpose,  (for  you  know  we  use  some  words  different  from 
what  they  do  here),  and  then  go  off,  and  tell  the  story,  and  larf  ready 
to  kill  herself.  '  Thinks,'  sais  I, '  I'll  take  the  change  out  of  you, 
marm,  for  that,  see  if  I  don't ;  I'll  give  you  a  story  about  yourself 
you'll  have  to  let  others  tell  for  you,  for  you  won't  like  to  retail  it 
out  yourself,  I  know.' — ^Well,  Lady  Gibberish,  you  know,  wam't  a 
noble  born ;  she  was  a  rich  citizen's  daughter,  and,  in  course,  horrid 
proud  of  nobility,  'cause  it's  new  to  her,  and  not  nateral ;  for  in  a 
gineral  way,  nobles,  if  they  have  pride,  lock  it  up  safe  in  their  jewel 
case ; — they  don't  carry  it  about  with  them,  on  their  persons ;  it's 
only  bran  new  made  ones  do  that. 

"  Well,  then,  she  is  dreadful  fond  of  bein'  thought  to  know  lan- 
guages, and  hooks  on  to  rich  foreigners  like  grim  death.  So,  thinks 
I,  I'll  play  you  off,  I  know.  Well,  my  moustache  (and  he  put  up 
his  hand  involuntarily,  to  twist  the  end  of  it,  as  he  was  wont  to  do, 
forgetting  that  it  was  a  '  tale  that  was  told'),  my  moustache,"  said 

15* 


55E 


846 


THE  ATTAOnii;  OB, 


I 
i     : 


he,  "  that  was  jist  suited  my  purpose,  so  I  goes  to  Gineral  Bigelow 
Bangs,  of  Maine,  that  was  here  at  the  time,  and,  sais  I, '  Gineral,' 
sais  I, '  I  want  to  take  a  rise  out  of  Lady  Gibberish ;  do  you  know 
her?'  'Well,  I  won't  say  I  don't,'  sais  he.  'Well,'  sais  I  (and  I 
told  him  the  whole  story),  'jist  introduce  me,  that's  a  good  feller, 
will  you,  to  her,  as  Baron  Von  Phunjoker,  the  everlastin'  almighty 
rich  German  that  has  estates  all  over  Germany,  and  everywhere 
else  a'most.'  So  up  he  goes  at  a  great  swoira  party  at '  the  Duke's,* 
and  introduces  me  in  great  form,  and  leaves  me.  Well,  you  know 
I've  heerd  a  great  deal  Of  Dutch  to  Albany,  where  the  Germans  are 
as  thick  as  huckleberries,  and  to  Lunenburg,  Nova  Scotia,  which  is 
German  all  thro'  the  piece,  and  I  can  speak  it  as  easy  as  kiss  my 
hand ;  and  I've  been  enough  in  Germany,  too,  to  know  what  to  talk 
about.  So,  she  began  to  jabber  Jarman  gibberish  to  me,  and  me  to 
her ;  and  when  she  axed  me  about  big  bugs  to  the  continent,  I  said 
I  had  been  roamin'  about  the  world  for  years,  and  had  lost  sight  of 
'em  of  late ;  and  I  told  her  about  South  Sea,  where  I  had  been,  and 
America,  and  led  her  on  to  larf  at  the  Yankees,  and  so  on.  Then, 
she  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  round  to  several  of  her  friends,  and 
introduced  me  as  the  Baron  Von  Phunjoker,  begged  me  to  call  and 
see  her,  to  make  her  house  my  home,  and  the  devil  knows  what  all; 
and  when  she  seed  Gineral  Bangs  arterwards,  she  said  I  was  the 
most  deligl*ful  man  she  ever  seed  in  her  life, — full  of  anecdote,  and 
been  everywhere,  and  seen  everythin',  and  that  she  liked  me  of  all 
things — the  dearest  and  handsomest  man  that  ever  was.  The  story 
got  wind  that  the  trick  had  been  played,  but  the  Gineral  was  off  to 
Eastport,  and  nobody  know'd  it  was  me  that  was  Baron  Phunjoker. 
When  she  sees  me,  she  stares  hard,  as  if  she  had  her  misgivin's,  and 
was  doubty ;  but  I  look  as  innocent  as  a  child,  and  pass  on.  Oh !  it 
cut  her  wp  awful.  When  I  leave  town,  I  shall  call  and  leave  a  card 
at  her  house,  'the  Baron  Von  Phunjoker.'  Oh!  how  the  little 
Yankee  woman  larfed  at  the  story ;  she  fairly  larfed  till  she  wet 
herself  a-cryin', 

"  Yes,  Squire,  in  course,  I  have  sometimes  put  my  foot  in  it.  I 
s'pose  they  may  have  a  larf  at  my  expense  arter  I  am  gone,  but  they 
are  welcome  to  it.  I  shall  have  many  a  larf  at  them,  1  know,  and  a 
fair  exchange  ain't  no  robbery.  Yes,  I  guess  I  am  out  of  place  as 
an  Attach^,  but  it  has  enabled  me  to  see  the  world,  has  given  me 
new  wrinkles  on  my  horn,  and  sharpened  my  eye-teeth  a  few.    I 


shall  return  home  with  poor  old  father,  and,  dear  old 


soul,  old 


Minister,  and  take  up  the  trade  of  clockmakin'  agin.  There  is  a 
considerable  smart  chance  of  doin'  business  to  advantage  to  China. 
I  have  contracted  with  a  house  here  for  thirty  thousand  wooden 
clocks,  to  be  delivered  at  Macao.  I  shall  make  a  good  spec'  of  it, 
and  no  mistake.  And  well  for  me  it  is  so,  too,  for  you  have  sp'iled 
the  trade  everywhere  a'most.    Your  books  have  gone  everywhere,  ] 


/ 


•«9 


SAH  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


847 


and  been  translated  everywhere ;  and  who  would  buy  clocks  now, 
iivhen  the  secret  of  the  trade  is  out  ?  If  you  know,  I  don't.  China 
is  the  only  place  open  now,  and  that  won't  be  long,  for  Mr.  Chew- 
chew  will  take  to  readin'  bime-by,  and  then  I'm  in  a  basket  there, 
too.  Another  thing  has  entarmined  me  to  go.  Poor  dear  father  ^ 
has  been  regularly  took  in  by  some  sharper  or  another.  What 
fetched  him  here  was  a  letter  from  a  swindler  (marked  private), 
tellin'  him  to  send  five  pounds,  and  he'd  give  him  tidin's  of  a  fortin 
and  a  title.  Well,  as  soon  as  he  got  that,  he  writes  agin,  and  tells 
him  of  his  title  and  estates,  so  plausible,  it  actilly  took  me  in  when 
I  fust  heard  of  it.  Then,  he  got  him  over  here,  and  bled  him  till 
he  couldn't  bleed  no  longer,  and  then  he  absquotilated.  The  story 
has  got  wind,  and  it  makes  me  so  dandry,  I  shall  have  to  walk  into 
some  o'  them  folks  here  afore  I've  done,  if  I  stay.  Father  is  most 
crazy ;  sometimes  he  is  for  settin*  the  police  to  find  the  feller  out, 
that  he  may  shoot  him ;  and  then  he  says  it's  every  word  true,  and 
the  man  is  only  absent  in  s'archin'  out  record.  I'm  actilly  afraid 
he'll  go  mad,  he  acts,  and  talks,  and  frets,  and  raves,  and  carries  on 
«o.  I  hope  they  won't  get  the  story  to  home  to  Slickville ;  I  shall 
never  hear  the  last  of  it  if  they  do. 

"  Minister,  too,  is  gettin*  oneasy ;  he  sais  he  is  too  far  away  from 
home,  for  an  old  man  like  him ;  that  his  heart  yearns  arter  Slick- 
ville ;  that  here  he  is  a-doin'  o'  nothin',  and  that  although  he  couldn't 
do  much  there,  yet  he  could  try  to,  and  the  very  attempt  would  be 
acceptable  to  his  Heavenly  Master.  What  a  brick  he  is !  ain't  he  ? 
it  will  be  one  while  afore  they  see  his  like  here  agin,  in  these 
clearin's,  I  know. 

"  Yes,  all  things  have  their  flood  and  their  ebb.  It's  ebb  tide 
here  now.  I  have  floated  up  steam  smooth  and  grand ;  now  it's  a 
turn  of  the  tide ;  if  I  stay  too  long,  I  shall  ground  on  the  flats,  and 
I'm  for  up  killock  and  off,  while  there  is  water  enough  to  clear  the 
bars  and  the  shoals. 

"  Takin'  the  earliest  tide,  helps  you  to  go  furdest  up  the  river ; 
takin'  the  earliest  ebb  makes  you  return  safe.  A  safe  voyage  shows 
a  good  navigator  and  a  good  pilot.  I  hope  on  the  voyage  of  life  I 
shall  prove  myself  both ;  but  to  do  so,  it  is  necessary  to  keep  about 
the  sharpest  look-out  for  *  the  Ebb  Tide.* " 


^j 


WKmm 


MS 


THE  attache;  ok, 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 


EXPERIMENTAL    PHILOSOPHY. 

OuB  arrangements  having  been  all  finished,  we  set  ont  from 
London,  and  proceeded  to  Liverpool,  at  which  place  my  friends 
were  to  embark  for  America.  For  many  miles  after  we  left  Lon- 
don, but  little  was  said  by  any  of  the  party.  Leaving  a  town  that 
contained  so  many  objects  of  attraction  as  London,  was  a  great  trial 
to  Mr.  Slick ;  and  the  separation  of  our  party,  and  the  termination 
of  our  tour,  pressed  heavily  on  the  spirits  of  us  all,  except  the  Co- 
lonel. He  became  impatient  at  last  at  the  continued  silence,  and, 
turning  to  me,  asked  me  if  ever  I  had  been  at  a  Quaker  meeting, 
"  because  if  you  haven't,"  he  said,  "  you  had  better  go  there,  and 
you  will  know  what  it  is  to  lose  the  use  of  your  tongue,  and  that's 
what  I  call  experimental  philosophy.  Strange  country  this.  Minister, 
ain't  it !  How  shockin'  full  of  people,  and  bosses,  and  carriages, 
and  what  not,  it  is.  It  ought  to  be  an  amazin'  rich  country,  but  I 
doubt  that." 

"  It's  not  only  a  gi*eat  country,  but  a  good  country.  Colonel,"  he 
replied.  "  It  is  as  good  as  it  is  great,  and  its  greatness,  in  my  opi- 
nion, is  founded  on  its  goodness.  '  Thy  prayers  and  thy  alms  have 
come  up  as  a  memorial  for  thee  before  God.' " 

"  And  do  you  raelly  think,  now.  Minister,"  he  replied, "  that  that's 
the  cause  they  have  gone  a-head  so  ?" 

"  I  do,"  he  said ;  "  it's  with  nations  as  with  individuals  :  soonr 
later  they  are  overtaken  in  their  iniquity,  or  their  righteous 
meets  its  reward." 

"  That's  your  experimental philo'?phy,  then,  is  it?** 
"  Call  it  what  name  you  will,  that  is  my  fixed  belief." 
"  The  British,  then,  must  have  taken  to  prayin'  and  alms-givin' 
only  quite  lately,  or  the  Lord  wouldn't  a-suffered  them  to  get  such 
an  almighty  everlastin*  whippin'  as  we  give  *em  to  Bunkers  Hill, 
or  as  old  Hickory  give  *em  to  New  Orleans.  Heavens  and  airth ! 
how  we  laid  it  into  'em  there  :  we  waited  till  we  seed  the  whites  of 
their  eyes,  and  then  we  let  *em  have  it  right  and  left.  They  lamt 
experitnental  philosophy  (as  the  immortal  Franklin  caUed  it)  that 
time,  I  know." 


SAM  8LI0K  IN    KNOLAND. 


849 


**  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  **  for  an  old  man,  on  the  verge  of 
the  grave,  exulting  over  a  sad  and  stem  necessity  like  that  battley-^ 
for  that  is  the  mildest  name  such  a  dreadful  effusion  of  human 
blood  can  claim, — appears  to  me  but  little  becoming  either  your  age, 
your  station,  or  eren  your  profession." 

**  Well,  Minister,"  he  said,  "  you  are  right  there,  too^  it  is  foolish, 
I  know,  but  it  was  a  great  deed,  and  I  do  feel  kinder  proud  of  it, 
that's  a  fact ;  not  that  I  haven't  got  my  own  misgivin's  sometimes, 
when  I  wake  up  in  the  night,  about  its  lawfulness ;  not  that  I  am 
afraid  of  ghosts,  for,  d — a  me  I  if  I  am  afraid  of  anythin'  livin'  or 
dead ;  I  don't  know  fear — I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"  I  should  think  not.  Colonel,  not  even  the  fear  of  the  Lord." 

"  Oh  I  as  for  that,"  he  said, "  that's  a  boss  of  another  color ;  it's  no 
disgrace  to  be  cowardly  there ;  but  as  for  the  lawfulness  of  that 
battle,  I  won't  deny  I  hante  got  my  own  experimaUal  philosophy 
about  it  sometimes.  I'd  like  to  argue  that  over  a  Bottle  of  cider, 
some  day,  with  you,  and  hear  all  the  pros  and  cons,  and  debtors  and 
creditors,  and  ins  and  outs,  that  I  might  clear  my  mind  on  that 
score.  On  the  day  of  that  battle,  I  had  white  breeches  and  black 
gaiters  on,  and  my  hands  got  bloody  liftin'  up  Lieutenant  Weather- 
spoon,  a  tailor  from  our  town,  arter  he  got  a  clip  on  the  shoulder 
from  a  musket-ball.  Well,  he  left  the  print  of  one  bloody  hand  on 
my  legs — and  sometimes  I  see  it  there  now ;  not  that  I  am  afeerd 
on  it,  for  I'd  face  man  or  devil.  A  Bunker  Hill  boy  is  afeerd  of 
nothin'.  He  knows  what  experimental  philosophy  is.  Did  you  ever 
kill  a  man.  Minister  ?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  questicm.  Colonel  Slick  ?" 

^  Well,  I  don't  mean  no  offence,  for  I  don't  suppose  you  did ;  but 
I  jist  want  you  to  answer,  to  show  you  the  eT^erimental  philosophy 
of  the  thing." 

«  Well,  Sir,  I  never  did." 

"  Did  you  ever  steal  ?" 

"Never." 

"  Did  you  ever  bear  false  witness  agm  your  neighbor  ?" 

**  Oh  I  Colonel  Slick,  don't  go  on  that  way." 

"  Well,  oncet  more ;  did  you  ever  covet  your  neighbor's  wife  ?  tell 
me  that  now ;  nor  his  servant,  nor  his  maid  ? — As  to  maidens,  I  sup- 
pose it's  so  long  ago,  you  are  like  myself  that  way — ^you  don't  recol- 
lect ?—  Nor  his  boss,  nor  his  ox,  nor  his  rifle,  nor  anythin'  that's  his  ? 
— Jim  Brown,  the  biack  preacher,  says  there  aint  no  asses  to  Slick- 
viUe." 

"  He  was  under  a  mistake,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  HopewelL  "  He 
was  one  himself,  and  if  he  had  searched  he  would  have  found 
other    " 

"  And  therefore  he  leaves  'em  out,  and  puts  in  the  only  thing  he 
ever  did  envy  a  man,  and  that's  a  good  rifle."  > 


■^SW" 


<  850 


THE  attache;  OB, 


i 


"  Colonel  Slick,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  when  I  say  this  style  of 
conversation  is  distasteful  to  me,  I  hope  you  will  see  the  propriety 
of  not  pursuing  it  any  further." 

"  You  don't  onderstand  me  Sir,  that's  the  very  thing  I'm  goin'  to 
explain  to  you  by  experimental  philosophy.  Who  the  devil  would  go 
to  offend  you,  Sir,  intentionally  ?  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't,  and  you  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do ;  and  if  I  seed  the  man  that  dare  do  it,  I'd  call 
him  out,  and  shoot  him  as  dead  as  a  herrin'.  I'll  be  cussed  if  I 
wouldn't.  Don't  kick  afore  yoit're  spurred,  that  way.  Well,  as  I 
was  a-sayin',  you  never  broke  »ay  of  the  commandments  in  all  your 
life—" 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  Sir  I  fax  be  such  presumption  from  me.  I 
never — " 

"  Well,  you  may  a-bent  some  o'  them  consideraK/le,  when  you  was 
young ;  but  you  never  fairly  broke  one,  I  know." 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  with  an  imploring  look,  "  this  is  very 
disagreeable — very." 

"  Let  him  be,"  said  his  '^oii,  "  he  don't  mean  no  harm — it's  only 
his  way.  Now,  to  my  liiind,  a  man  ought  to  kno ''  by  experimental 
philosophy  them  things ;  and  then  when  he  talkt  i  about  stings  o* 
conscience,  and  remorse,  and  so  on,  he'd  talk  about  somethin'  he 
knowed. — You've  no  more  stings  o'  conscience  than  a  baby  has — 
you  don't  know  what  it  is.  You  can  preach  up  the  pleasure  of  bein* 
good  better  nor  any  man  I  ever  seed,  because  you  know  that,  and 
nothin'  else — it's  all  flowers,  and  green  fields,  and  purlin'  streams, 
and  shady  groves,  and  singin'  birds,  and  sunny  spots,  and  so  on  with 
you.  You  beat  all  when  you  git  off  on  that  key ;  but  you  can't 
frighten  folks  out  of  their  seventeen  sinses,  about  scorpion  whips,  and 
vultur's  tearin'  hearts  open,  and  torments  of  the  wicked  here,  and  the 
damned  hereafter.  You  can't  do  it  to  save  your  soul  alive,  'cause 
you  hante  got  nothin'  to  repent  of;  you  don't  see  the  bloody  hand  on 
your  white  breeches — ^you  hante  got  experimental  philosophy** 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  who  availed  himself  of  a  slight  pause 
in  the  Colonel's  "  experimental  philosophy,"  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion ;  "  Sam,  these  cars  run  smoother  than  ours ;  the  fittings,  too,  are 
more  complete." 

"  I  think  them  the  perfection  of  travellin'. 

"  Now,  there  was  Balph  Maxwell,  the  pirate,"  cont!xiued  the  Col- 
onel, "  that  was  tried  for  forty-two  murders,  one  hundred  high  sea 
robberies,  and  forty  ship  bumin's,  at  New  Orleans,  condemned  and 
sentenced  to  be  hanged — his  hide  was  bought,  on  sptkilation  of  the 
hangman,  for  two  thousand  dollars,  for  razor-straps,  bank-note  books, 
ladies'  needle-cases,  and  so  on.  Well  he  was  pardoned  jist  at  the 
last,  and  people  said  he  paid  a  good  round  sum  for  it :  but  the  hang- 
man kept  the  money ;  he  said  he  was  ready  to  deliver  his  hide,  ac- 
cordm'  to  barg'in,  when  he  was  hanged,  and  so  he  was,  I  do  sup- 


^m 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


861 


pose,  when  he  was  hanged.  Well,  Balph  was  shunned  by  all  fash- 
ionable society,  in  course ;  no  respectable  man  would  let  him  into 
his  house,  unless  it  was  to  please  the  ladies  as  a  sight,  and  what 
does  Ralph  do— why  he  went  about  howlin',  and  yellin',  and  scream- 
in,'  like  mad,  and  foamin'  at  the  mouth  for  three  days,  and  then  said 
he  was  convarted,  and  took  up  preachin'.  Well,  folks  said,  the 
greater  the  sinner,  the  greater  the  saint,  and  they  foUered  him  in 
crowds— every  door  was  open  to  him,  and  so  was  every  puss,  and 
the  women  all  went  mad  arter  him,  for  he  was  a  horrid  handsum  man, 
and  he  took  the  rag  off  quite.  That  man  had  experimental  philoso- 
phy— that  is,  arter  a  fashion.  He  come  down  as  far  as  our  State, 
and  I  went  to  hear  him.  Oh !  he  told  such  beautiful  anecdotes  of 
pirates  and  stam  chases,  and  sea-fights,  and  runnin'  off  with  splen- 
deriferous  women,  and  of  barrels  of  gold,  and  hogsheads  of  silver, 
and  boxes  of  diamonds,  and  bags  of  pearls,  that  he  most  turned  the 
young  men's  heads — they  called  him  the  handsum  young  convarted 
p*  <..  When  a  man  talks  about  what  he  knows,  1  call  it  experi- 
mental philosophy. 

"  Now,  Minister,  he  wam't  a  right  man  you  know — ^he  was  a  vil- 
lain, and  only  took  to  preachin'  to  make  money,  and,  therefore, 
instead  of  frightenin'  folks  out  of  their  wits,  as  he  would  a-done  if 
he'd  been  frightened  himself,  and  experienced  repentance,  he  allured 
'em  a'most ;  he  didn't  paint  the  sin  of  it,  he  painted  the  excitement. 
I  seed  at  once,  with  half  an  eye,  where  the  screw  was  loose,  and  it 
proved  right — for  as  soon  as  he  raised  fifty  thousand  dollars  by 
preachin'.  he  fitted  out  another  pirate  vessel,  and  was  sunk  fightin' 
a  British  man-o'-war ;  but  he  might  have  been  a  great  preacher,  if 
his  heart  had  raelly  been  in  the  right  place,  'cause  his  experimental 
philosophy  was  great ;  and,  by  the  bye,  talkin'  of  experimental  puts 
me  in  mind  of  practical  philosophy.  Lord !  I  shall  never  forget  old 
Captain  Polly,  of  Nantucket :  did  you  ever  hear  of  him.  Squire  ?  In 
course  he  was  a  captain  of  a  whaler.  He  was  what  he  called  a  prac- 
tical man ;  he  left  the  science  to  his  officers,  and  only  sailed  her,  and 
managed  things,  and  so  on.  He  was  a  mighty  droll  man,  and  p'raps 
as  great  a  pilot  as  ever  you  see  a'most ;  but  navigation  he  didn't 
know  at  all ;  so  when  the  officers  had  their  glasses  up  at  twelve 
o'clock  to  take  the  sun,  he'd  say,  *  Boy,' — *  Yes,  Sir.'  *  Hand  up  my 
quadranc,'  and  the  boy'd  hand  up  a  large  square  black  bottle  full  of 
gin.  *  Bear  a-hand  you  young  rascal,'  he'd  say, '  or  I  shall  lose  the 
obsarvation,'  and  he'd  take  the  bottle  with  both  hands,  throw  his  head 
back,  and  turn  it  butt  eend  up  and  t'other  eend  to  his  mouth,  and 
pretend  to  be  f  -lookin'  at  the  sun ;  and  then,  arter  his  breath  give 
out,  he'd  take  it  down  and  say  to  officer, '  Have  you  had  a  good  ob- 
sarvation to-day  ?'  '  Yes,  Sir.'  '  So  have  I,'  he'd  say,  a-smackin* 
of  his  lips — '  a  capital  one,  too.'    '  Its  twelve  o'clock,  Sir.'    *  Veiy 


mm 


•^SF^^m^^m^ 


862 


THE  ATTACHi:;  OB, 


well,  make  it  so.'    Lord !  no  soul  could  help  a-larfin',  he  did  it  all 
80  grave  ^nd  serious ;  he  called  it  practical  philosophy." 

"  Hullo !  what  large  place  is  this,  Sam  ?'* 

"  Birmingham,  Sir." 

"  How  long  do  we  stop  ?" 
•"  Long  enough  for  refreshment,  Sir." 

"  Come,  then,  let's  take  an  observation  out  of  the  black  bottle,  like 
Captain  Polly.  Let's  have  a  turn  at  Practical  Philosophy ;  I  think 
we've  had  enough  to-day  of  ExperimerUal  Philosophy" 

While  Mr.  Slick  and  his  father  were  *'  taking  observations,"  I 
walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  saloon  with  Mr.  Hopewell. 
**  What  a  singular  character  the  Colonel  is  1"  he  said ;  "  he  is  one 
of  the  oddest  compounds  I  ever  knew.  He  is  as  brave  and  as  hon- 
orable a  man  as  ever  lived,  and  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  creatures 
I  ever  knew.  Unfortunately,  he  is  very  weak ;  and  having  acci- 
dentally been  at  Bunker  Hill,  has  had  his  head  turned,  as  being  an 
Attache  has  affected  Sam's,  only  the  latter's  good  sense  has  enabled 
him  to  recover  from  his  folly  sooner.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
make  the  least  impression  on  that  old  man.  Whenever  I  speak  se- 
riously to  him,  he  swears  at  me,  and  says  he'll  not  talk  through  his 
nose  for  me  or  any  Preacher  that  ever  trod  shoe-leather.  He  is  very 
profane,  and  imagines,  foolish  old  man  as  he  is,  that  it  gives  him  a 
military  air.  That  he  has  ever  had  any  compunctious  visitations,  I 
never  knew  before  to-day,  and  am  glad  he  has  given  me  that  advan- 
tage. I  think  the  bloody  hand  will  assist  me  in  reclaiming  him  yet. 
He  has  never  known  a  day's  confinement  in  his  life,  and  has  never 
been  humbled  by  sickness.  He  is,  of  course,  quite  impenetrable.  I 
shall  not  forget  the  bloody  hand — it  may,  with  the  blessing  of  God, 
be  sanctified  to  his  use  yet.  That  is  an  awful  story  of  the  pirate,  is 
it  not  ?  What  can  better  exemplify  the  necessity  of  an  Established 
Church  than  the  entrance  of  such  wicked  men  into  the  Temple  of 
the  Lord  ?  Alas !  my  friend,  religion  in  our  country,  bereft  of  the 
care  and  protection  of  the  state,  and  left  to  the  charge  of  uneducated 
and  often  unprincipled  men,  is,  I  fear,  fast  descending  into  little 
more  than  what  the  poor  old  Colonel  would  call,  in  his  thoughtless 
way,  ^Experimental  Philosophy.*" 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


868 


■  t  »■ 


I  ) 


CHAPTER    LXV. 


PARTING    SCENE. 


acci- 


Haying  accompanied  Mr.  Slick  on  board  of  the  *  Great  Western/ 
and  seen  every  preparation  made  for  the  reception  and  comfort  of 
Mr.  Hopewell,  we  returned  to  the  "  Liner's  Hotel,"  and  ordered  an 
early  dinner.  It  was  a  sad  and  melancholy  meal.  It  was  not  only 
the  last  I  should  partake  of  with  my  American  party  in  England,, 
but  in  all  human  probability  the  last  at  which  we  should  ever  be 
assembled.  After  dinner  Mr.  Slick  said :  '<  Squire,  you  have  often 
given  me  a  good  deal  of  advice,  free  gratis.  Did  ever  I  flare  up 
when  you  was  walkin'  it  into  me  ?  Did  you  ever  see  me  get  mad 
now,  when  you  spoke  to  me  ?" 
.    "  Never,"  I  said. 

"  Guess  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  reckon  I've  seed  too  much  of  the 
world  for  that.  Now  don't  you  go  for  to  git  your  back  up,  if  I  say 
a  word  to  you  at  partin'.    You  won't  be  offended,  will  you  ?" 

*^  Certainly  not,"  I  said ;  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  whatever  you 
have  to  say." 

"  Well  then,"  said  be,  **  I  don't  jist  altogether  like  the  way  you 
throw  away  your  chances.  It  ain't  every  colonist  has  a  chance,  I 
can  tell  you,  for  you  are  all  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  and  looked 
down  upon  from  every  suckin'  subaltern  in  a  marchin'  regiment,  that 
hante  got  but  two  idees,  one  for  eatin'  and  drinkin',  and  t'other  for 
dressin'  and  smokin',  up  to  a  Parliament  man,  that  sais,  *  Nova  Sco- 
tia— ^what's  that  ?  is  it  a  town  in  Canady  or  in  Botany  Bay  ?'  Yes,  it 
ain't  oflen  a  colonist  gits  a  chance,  I  can  tell  you,  and,  especially  such 
a  smart  one  as  you  have.  Now  jist  see  what  you  do.  When  the 
Whigs  was  in  office,  you  jist  turned  to  and  said  you  didn't  like  them 
nor  their  principles — that  they  wam't  fit  to  govern  this  great  nation, 
and  so  on.  That  was  by  the  way  of  cunyin'  favor,  I  guess.  Well, 
when  the  Conservatives  come  in,  sais  you,  they  are  neither  chalk  nor 
cheese,  I  don't  like  their  changing  their  name;  they  are  leetle  better 
nor  the  Whigs,  but  not  half  so  good  as  the  Tories.  Capital  way  of 
makin'  friends  this,  of  them  that's  able  and  willin'  to  sarve  you,  ain't 
it?  Well  then,  if  some  out-and-out  old  Tory  boys  like  yourself 
were  to  come  in,  I'll  bet  you  a  goose  and  trimmin's  that  you'd  take 
the  same  crctchical  course  agin.    '  Oh  I'  you'd  say,  *  I  like  thes 


^affwiwqii**ii»<aiu-  .luiim^ipninipri'iifPp? 


854 


THE  ATTAOnfi;  OR, 


1 


principles,  but  I  don't  approve  of  their  measures;  I  respect  the 
party,  but  not  those  men  in  power.*  I  guess  you  always  will  find  fault 
to  the  eend  of  the  chapter.  Why  the  plague  don't  you  hook  on  to 
some  party  leader  or  another,  and  give  *em  a  touch  of  soft  sawder  ? 
if  you  don't,  take  my  word  for  it,  you  will  neier  be  nothin'  but  a 
despijsable  colonist  as  long  as  you  live.  Now  use  your  chances,  and 
don't  throw  'em  away  for  nothin'.  Rylin'  men  in  power  is  no  way 
to  gain  good  will,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  My  good  friend,"  I  said,  "  you  mistake  my  objects.  I  assure 
you  I  want  nothing  of  those  in  power.  I  am  an  old  man  :  I  want 
neither  oflBce  in  the  colony,  nor  promotion  out  of  it.  Whatever  as- 
piring hopes  I  may  once  have  entertained  in  my  earlier  and  happier 
days,  they  have  now  ceased  to  delude  me.  I  have  nothing  to  ask. 
I  neither  desire  them  to  redress  a  grievance,  (for  I  know  of  none  in 
the  colonies  so  bad  as  what  we  occasion  ourselves)  nor  to  confer  a 
favor.  I  have  but  a  few  years  to  live,  and  probably  they  will  be 
long  enough  for  me  to  survive  the  popularity  of  my  works.  I  am 
more  than  rewarded  for  the  labor  I  have  spent  on  my  books,  by  the 
gratification  I  derive  from  the  knowledge  of  the  good  they  have 
effected.  But  pray  don't  misunderstand  me.  If  I  had  any  ob- 
jects in  view,  I  would  never  condescend  to  flatter  men  in  power 
to  obtain  it.  I  know  not  a  more  contemptible  creature  than  a 
party  hack." 

"  You  are  right.  Sir,"  said  Colonel  Slick ;  "  flatterin'  men  in 
power  is  no  way  to  git  on ;  take  'em  by  the  horns  and  throw  'em. 
Dress  yourself  as  an  Indgin,  and  go  to  the  cutter,  and  throw  the  tea 
in  the  harbor,  as  we  did ;  then  fortify  the  hill  at  night,  as  we  did ; 
wait  till  you  see  the  whites  of  the  eyes  of  the  British,  and  give  'em 
cold  lead  for  breakfast,  as  we  did.  That's  your  sort,  old  boy,"  said 
he,  patting  me  on  the  back  with  heavy  blows  of  the  palm  of  his 
hand ;  "  that's  you,  my  old  coon, — ^wait  till  you  see  the  whites  of 
their  eyes."  ' 

"  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  "  there  is  one  man  whose  approba- 
tion I  am  most  desirous  you  should  have,  because  if  you  obtain  his, 
the  approbation  of  the  public  is  sure  to  follow." 

"Whose  is  that.  Sir?" 

"  Your  own — ^respect  yourself,  and  others  will  respect  you.  The 
only  man  in  the  world  whose  esteem  is  worth  having,  is  one's  self. 
This  is  the  use  of  conscience—educate  it  well — take  care  that  it  is 
60  instructed  that  its  judgment  is  not  warped  by  prejudice,  blinded 
by  superstition,  nor  flattered  by  self-conceit.  Appeal  to  it,  then,  in 
all  cases,  and  you  will  find  its  decision  infallible. 

"  I  like  the  course  and  the  tone  you  have  adopted  in  your  works, 
and  now  that  you  have  explained  your  motives,  I  like  them  also. 
Respect  yourself — I  recommend  moderation  to  you  though,  Squire, 
—ultra  views  are  always  bad.    In  medio  tutissimus  ibis  is  a  maxim 


'H  P»^  1)1  MiW»|IUip||IUJPI»l(»l  UWUPIIP  V^l 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


855 


founded  on  great  good  sense,  for  the  errors  of  intemperate  parties 
are  so  nearly  alike,  that,  in  proverbial  philosophy,  extremes  are  said 
to  meet.  Nor  is  it  advisable  so  to  express  yourself  as  to  make  ene- 
mies needlessly.  It  is  not  imperative  always  to  declare  the  truth, 
because  it  is  not  always  imperative  to  speak.  The  rule  is  this — 
Never  say  what  you  think,  unless  it  be  absolutely  necessary  to  do 
so,  if  you  are  to  gi^c  pain ;  but  on  no  account  ever  say  what  you  do 
not  think,  either  to  avoid  inflicting  pain,  to  give  pleasure,  or  to  effect 
any  object  whatever.  Truth  is  sacred.  This  is  a  sad  parting, 
Squire ;  if  it  shall  please  God  to  spare  my  life,  I  shall  still  hope  to 
see  you  on  your  return  to  Nova  Scotia ;  if  not,  accept  my  thanks  and 
my  blessing.  But  this  country.  Squire,  I  shall  certainly  never  see 
again.  It  is  a  great  and  glorious  country, — I  love  it, — I  love  its 
climate,  its  constitution,  and  its  church.     I  admire  its  noble  Queen, 

its  venerable  peers,  its  manly  and  generous  people ;  I  love " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  it  is  a  great  country  in 
one  sense,  but  then  it  ain't  in  another.  It  might  be  great  so  far  as 
riches  go,  but  then  in  size  it  ain't  bigger  than  New  York  State  arter 
all.  It's  nothin'  a'most  on  the  map.  In  fact,  I  doubt  it's  bein'  so 
rich  as  some  folks  brag  on.  Tell  you  what,  *  wilful  waste  makes 
woeful  want.'  There's  a  great  many  lazy,  idle,  extravagant  women 
here,  that's  a  fact.  The  Park  is  chock  full  of  *em  all  the  time,  ridin' 
and  gallavantin'  about,  tricked  out  in  silks  and  satins,  a-doin'  of 
nothin'.  Every  day  in  the  week  can't  be  Thanksgivin'  day,  nor  In- 
dependence day  nother.  *  All  play  and  no  work  will  soon  fetch  a 
noble  to  ninepence,  and  make  bread-timber  short,'  I  know.  Some 
on  *em  ought  to  be  kept  to  home,  or  else  their  homes  must  be  bad 
taken  care  of.  Who  the  plague  looks  after  their  helps  when  they  - 
are  off  frolickin'  ?  Who  does  the  presarvin'  or  makes  the  pies  and 
apple  sarce  and  doughnuts  ?  Who  does  the  spinnin',  and  cardin', 
and  bleachin',  or  mends  their  husband's  shirts  or  darns  their  stock- 
in's  ?  Tell  you  what,  old  Eve  fell  into  mischief  when  she  had  noth- 
in' to  do  ;  and  I  guess  some  o'  them  flauntin'  birds,  if  they  was  fol- 
lered,  and  well  watched,  would  be  found  a-scratchin'  up  other  folks' 
gardens  sometimes.  If  I  had  one  on  'em  I'd  cut  her  wings  and  keep 
her  inside  her  own  palin,'  I  know.  Every  hen  ought  to  be  kept 
within  hearin'  of  her  own  rooster,  for  fear  of  the  foxes,  that's  a  fact. 
Then  look  at  the  sarvants  in  gold  lace,  and  broadcloth  as  fine  as 
their  master's  ;  why  they  never  do  nothin',  but  help  make  a  show. 
They  don't  work,  and  they  couldn't  if  they  would,  it  would  sp'ile 
their  clothes  so.  What  on  airth  would  be  the  valy  of  a  thousand 
such  critturs  on  a  farm  ? — Lord  !  I'd  like  to  stick  a  pitchfork  in  one 
o'  them  rascal's  hands,  and  set  him  to  load  an  ox-cart — what  a  pro- 
per lookin'  fool  he'd  be,  wouldn't  he  ?  It  can't  last — it  don't  stand 
to  reason  and  common  sense.    And  then,  arter  all,  they  ain't  got  no 


T" 


»ir»w»»«^"l»" 


856 


THE  attach:^;  ob, 


■  ! 


Indgin  corn  here,  they  can't  raise  it,  nor  punkin  pies,  nor  quinces^ 
nor  silk-worms,  nor  nothin'. 

"  Then'  as  to  their  farmin' — Lord !  only  look  at  five  great  ele- 
phant-lookin'  beasts  in  one  plough,  with  one  great  lummakin'  feller 
to  hold  the  handle,  and  another  to  carry  the  whip,  and  a  boy  to 
lead,  whose  boots  have  more  iron  on  'em  than  the  horses'  hoofs  have, 
all  crawlin'  as  if  they  was  a-goin'  to  a  funeral.  What  sort  of  a  way 
is  that  to  do  work  ?  It  makes  me  mad  to  look  at  'em.  If  there  is 
any  airthly  clumsy  fashion  of  doin'  a  thing,  that's  the  way  they  are 
sure  to  git  here.  They  are  a  benighted,  obstinate,  bull-headed  peo- 
ple, the  English,  that's  a  fact,  and  always  was. 

"  At  Bunker  Hill,  if  they  had  only  jist  gone  round  the  line  of 
level  to  the  right,  instead  of  chargin'  up  that  steep  pitch,  they'd 
a-killed  every  devil  of  us,  as  slick  as  a  whistle.  We  know'd  that  at 
the  time ;  and  Dr.  Warren,  that  commanded  us,  sais,  '  Boys,*  sais 
he,  *  don't  throw  up  entrenchments  there,  'cause  that's  where  they 
ought  to  come  ;  but  jist  take  the  last  place  in  the  world  they  ought 
to  attack,  and  there  you'll  be  sure  to  find  'em,  for  that's  English  all 
over.'  Faith  1  he  was  right ;  they  came  jist  to  the  identical  spot  we 
wanted  'em  to  come  to,  and  they  got  a  taste  of  our  breed  that  day, 
that  didn't  sharpen  their  appetite  much,  I  guess.  Cold  lead  is  a  sup- 
per that  ain't  easy  digested,  that's  a  fact. 

"  Well,  at  New  Orleans,  by  all  accounts,  they  did  jist  the 
same  identical  thing.  They  couldn't  do  anything  right,  if  they  was 
to  try.  Give  me  old  Slickville  yet,  I  haute  seed  its  ditto  here 
nowhere. 

"  And  then  as  for  Constitution,  what  sort  of  one  is  that,  where 
O'Connell  snaps  his  finger  in  their  face,  and  tells  'em  he  don't  care 
a,  cent  for  'em.  It's  all  bunkum.  Minister,  nothin'  but  bunkum, 
Squire,"  said  he,  turning  to  me  ;  "  I  won't  say  I  ain't  sorry  to  part 
with  you,  'cause  I  am.  For  a  colonist,  I  must  say  you're  a  very  de- 
cent man,  but  I  kinder  guess  it  would  have  been  most  as  well  for 
Sam  if  he  and  you  had  never  met.  I  don't  mean  no  ofience,  but  he 
has  been  idle  now  a  considerable  long  time,  and  spent  a  shocking 
sight  o'  money.  I  only  hope  you  hante  sot  him  agin  work,  and 
made  him  above  his  business,  that's  all.  It's  great  cry  and  little 
wool,  bein'  an  Attachy,  as  they  call  it.  It  ain't  a  very  profitable 
business,  that's  a  fact,  nor  no  other  trade  that  costs  more  nor  it 
comes  to.  Here's  your  good  health.  Sir ;  here's  hopin'  you  may  one 
day  dress  yourself  as  an  Indgin  as  I  did,  go  in  the  night  to——" 

'•  Bed,"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  rising,  and  squeezing  me  kindly  by 
the  hand,  and  with  some  difficulty  giving  utterance  to  his  usual  vale- 
diction, "  Farewell,  my  son."  Mr.  Slick  accompanied  me  to  the 
door  of  my  room,  and  as  we  parted,  said :  "  Squire,  put  this  little 
cigar  case  into  your  pocket.  It  is  made  out  of  the  black  birch  log 
you  and  I  sot  down  upon  when  we  baited  our  bosses  arter  we  fust 


i|ilWlilJ«»|illi"P 


SAM  SLICE  IN  ENGLAND. 


867 


sot  eyes  on  each  other,  on  the  Cumberland  road  in  Nova  Scotia 
When  you  smoke,  use  that  case  please :  it  will  remind  you  of  the 
ftist  time  you  saw  '  Sam  Slick  the  Clockmaker,*  and  the  last  day  you 
ever  spent  with  the  Attache.' "  i      .    - 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

VALEDICTORY    ADDRESS. 

Gentle  reader,  having.4taken  my  leave  of  Mr.  Slick,  it  is  now  fit 
I  should  take  my  leave  of  you.  But,  first,  let  me  entreat  you  to  join 
with  me  in  the  wish  that  the  Attache  may  arrive  safely  at  home,  and 
live  to  enjoy  the  reputation  he  has  acquired.  It  would  be  ungra- 
cious, indeed,  in  me,  not  to  express  the  greatest  gratitude  to  him  for 
the  many  favors  he  has  conferred  upon  me,  and  for  the  numerous 
benefits  I  have  incidentally  derived  from  his  acquaintance.  When 
he  offered  his  services  to  accompany  me  to  England,  to  make  me 
well  known  to  the  public,  and  to  give  me  numerous  introductions  to 
persons  of  distinction,  that,  as  a  colonist,  I  could  not  otherwise  obtain, 
I  could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile  at  the  complacent  self-sufficiency 
of  his  benevolence ;  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that  he  has  more  than 
fulfilled  his  promise.  In  all  cases  but  two  he  has  exceeded  his  own 
anticipations  of  advancing  me.  He  has  not  procured  for  me  the 
situation  of  Governor-General  of  Canada,  which,  as  an  ambitious 
man,  it  was  natural  he  should  desire,  whilst  as  a  friend  it  was  equally 
natural  that  he  should  overlook  my  entire  unfitness  for  the  office ; 
nor  has  he  procured  for  me  a  peerage,  which,  as  an  American,  it  is 
surprising  he  should  prize  so  highly,  or  as  a  man  of  good,  sound 
judgment,  and  common  sense,  not  perceive  to  be  more  likely  to 
cover  an  humble  man,  like  me,  with  ridicule  than  anything  else. 
For  both  these  disappointments,  however,  he  has  one  common  solu- 
tion— English  monopoly,  English  arrogance,  and  English  pri^e  on 
the  one  hand,  and  provincial  dependence  and  colonial  helotism  on 
the  other. 

For  myself,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  which  to  feel  most  grateful 
for,  that  which  he  has  done,  or  that  which  he  has  left  undone.  To 
have  attained  all  his  objects,  where  success  would  have  neutralized 
the  efiect  of  all,  would,  indeed,  have  been  unfortunate ;  but  to  succeed 
in  all  that  was  desirable,  and  to  fail  only  where  failure  was  to  be 
preferred,  was  the  height  of  good  fortune.  I  am  happy  to  say  that, 
on  the  whole,  he  is  no  less  gratified  himself,  and  that  he  thinks,  at 
least,  I  have  been  of  equal  service  to  him.    **  It  tante  every  one^ 


'■. 


I  I 


w 


868 


THE  ATTACH^;   OR, 


Squire/'  he  would  often  say,  "  that's  as  lucky  as  Johnson  and  me. 
He  had  his  Boswell,  and  I  have  had  my  Squire;  and  if  you  two 
hante  imtnortalized  both  us  fellers  fur  ever  and  a  day,  it's  a  pity, 
that's  all.  Fact  is,  I  have  made  you  known,  and  you  have  made  me 
known,  airl  it's  some  couifort,  too,  ain't  it,  not  to  be  obliged  to  keep 
a  dog  and  do  your  own  barkin*.  It  tante  pleasant  to  be  your  own 
trumpeter  always,  as  Kissinkirk,  the  Prince's  bugler  found,  is  it?" 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  have  recorded,  like  Boswell,  all 
Mr.  Slick's  conversations.  I  have  selected  only  such  parts  as  suited 
my  object  Neither  the  "Clockmaker"  nor  the  "Attach6"  were 
ever  designed  as  books  of  travels,  but  to  portray  character — to  give 
practical  lessons  in  morals  and  politics — to  expose  hypocrisy — to 
uphold  the  connexion  between  the  parent  country  and  the  colonies, 
to  develope  the  resources  of  the  province,  and  to  enforce  the  just 
claims  of  my  countrymen — to  discountenance  agitation — ^to  strengthen 
the  union  between  Church  and  State — and  to  foster  and  excite  a 
love  for  our  own  form  of  government,  and  a  preference  of  it  over  all 
others.  So  many  objects  necessarily  required  several  continuations 
of  the  work,  and  although  seven  volumes  warn  me  not  to  trepass  too 
long  on  the  patience  of  the  public,  yet  many  excluded  topics  make 
me  feel,  with  regret,  that  I  have  been  either  too  diflfuae,  or  too  pre- 
sumptuous. Prolixity  was  unavoidable  from  another  cause.  In 
order  to  attain  my  objects,  I  found  it  expedient  so  to  intermingle 
humor  with  the  several  topics,  so  as  to  render  subjects  attractive 
that  in  themselves  are  generally  considered  as  too  deep  and  dry  for 
general  reading.  All  these  matters,  however,  high  and  difficult  as 
they  are  to  discuss  properly,  are  exhausted  and  hackneyed  enough. 
But  little  that  is  new  can  now  be  said  upon  them.  The  only  at- 
traction they  are  susceptible  of  is  the  novelty  of  a  new  dress.  That 
I  have  succeeded  in  rendering  them  popular  by  clothing  them  in  the 
natural  language,  and  illustrating  them  by  the  humor  of  a  shrewd 
and  droll  man  like  Mr.  Slick,  their  unprecedented  circulation  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  leaves  me  no  room  to  doubt,  while  I  am 
daily  receiving  the  most  gratifying  testimony  of  the  beneficial  effects 
they  have  produced,  and  are  still  producing  in  the  colonies,  for 
whose  use  they  were  principally  designed.  Much  as  I  value  the 
popularity  of  these  works,  I  value  their  utility  much  higher,  and  of 
the  many  benefits  that  have  accrued  to  myself  as  the  author,  and 
they  have  been  most  numerous,  none  have  been  so  grateful  as  that 
of  knowing  that "  they  have  done  good."  Under  these  circumstances, 
I  cannot  but  feel,  in  parting  with  Mr.  Slick,  that  I  am  separating 
from  a  most  serviceable  friend,  and  as  the  public  have  so  often  ex- 
pressed their  approbation  of  him,  both  as  a  Clockmaker  and  an 
Attache,  I  am  not  without  hopes,  gentle  reader,  that  this  regret  is 
mutuaL  He  has  often  pressed  upon  me,  and  at  parting  renewed  in 
a  most  urgent  manner,  his  request  that  I  would  not  yet  lay  aside 


•fm^^f^frnms^m 


SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND. 


859 


my  pen.  He  was  pleased  to  say  it  was  both  a  popular  and  a  useful 
one,  and  that,  as  the  greater  part  of  my  life  had  been  spent  in  a 
colony,  it  could  not  be  better  employed  than  in  recording  "  Provin' 
cial  JxecoUections,  or  Sketches  of  Colonial  Zd/e.''^ 

In  his  opinion,  the  harvest  is  most  abundant,  and  needs  only  a 
reaper  accustomed  to  the  work,  to  gamer  up  its  riches.  I  think  so, 
too,  but  am  not  so  confident  of  my  ability  to  esecute  the  task  as  he 
is,  and  still  less  certain  of  having  the  health  or  the  leisure  requisite 
for  it. 

I  indulge  the  hope,  however,  at  some  future  day,  of  at  least 
making  the  attempt,  and  if  other  avocations  permit  me  to  complete 
it,  I  shall  then,  gentle  reader,  have  the  pleasure  of  again  inviting 
your  attention  to  my  native  land,  by  presenting  you  with  "  Sketches 
of  Colonial  Life." 


THE    END. 


